Shall I Teach You Something New?
by H'ekwos
Summary: AU - To earn the favor of the ruthless and dangerous son of King Aizen, Gin must answer one question. What to give the man who has everything? Only the sublime experience of teaching his very own, carefully selected, and most exquisite pet. But Prince Ichigo was never an easy man to please. - MATURE - M/M, M/F, multiple pairings, IchiHitsu main
1. 1 - Musings of a Viper

**A/N -** **Every idea I have starts sweet and fluffy in my head, and ends dark and tormented on paper. Please, I need help! Anyway, a little different from my first stories, though you know its still IchiHitsu. Other pairings may be background or may have their own plotline, I don't know yet: IchiHime, Gin/Rangiku, Renji/Rukia, others**

 **Chapter 1 is a lot of thinking (thus the title). Sorry if it's boring, give chapter 2 a try for a more lively story.**

 **Warnings - AU. Yaoi M/M MATURE, obviously. Elements of BDSM, Dom/Sub but not going far in that direction, that's not the point.**

 **Disclaimer (are these really necessary? oh well) - I don't own Bleach.**

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 **Chapter 1**

 **Musings of a Viper**

There was someone like him in every court, more than one sometimes. Ichimaru Gin was territorial, so in _his_ court, there was only one. He was the man people went to obtain the unobtainable, be it a coveted work of art, an invitation to the most exclusive gala, or forbidden fruit to warm your bed or liven up your dungeon. The price for his services could be high. Some paid in coin, others in secrets or favors, and a select few were provided with anything he was able to acquire for no price at all.

A noble in his own right, with a lineage long enough to earn him a life of idleness, Gin was never satisfied with enough. The shadow empire at his fingertips stretched across many kingdoms, and no fabled ancestor had done more to secure the power and influence of his house than its current head. He thrived equally well in the dark depths and the bright shallows of the court, but all that he had achieved hinged upon the favor of one man.

With his connections, Gin could flee to any number of kings and queens to rebuild. But the heart of his empire was here, in Las Noches, and the loss would be staggering indeed if he were to uproot his foundation of power. Thus, for more than a decade he had schemed, murdered, cajoled, and even done honest labor to solidify his position as the favorite courtier and most trusted adviser of King Aizen, a man otherwise known to be dangerously fickle and inconstant in his favor. The web of favors, intrigues, trusts and distrusts between the King and his favorite was thick enough, sticky enough that neither would be able to untangle themselves without injury.

Kings in Las Noches either lasted an eternity, or were snuffed out like candles early in their reign. Aizen was not one to be snuffed out, and so Gin was fairly secure for his immediate future. The long-term future of himself and his house was now the growing concern. Which led to Gin's current problem. The favorite son had, against all odds, managed to survive coming of age. With the mortality rate of kings being what it was, at any time Gin could find himself at the mercy of a new ruler. Much easier to earn the favor of a prince than a king, and Gin needed to find a way to ensure the prince continued to honor the Ichimaru name.

The boy was interesting, not always a good quality to work with. He seemed an unlikely choice, with silly hair, a silly name, a mother without any particular power. Yet at age 6 he was singled out of the plethora of children. Not the oldest nor the youngest, not the handsomest nor the most charming. Many, Gin included, decided it was one of the King's games, his favor certain to earn the envy and wrath of royal children, their vicious mothers, and their scheming relatives. Gin watched with amused pity, waiting for the boy to disappear or meet with a tragic and bloody accident.

Years passed, the young prince sitting at his father's knee learning statecraft, ruthlessness, tactics, and dark secrets that never once left the child's lips despite the efforts of many. He was quiet, so quiet in the presence of his elders. In the company of others his age he still had childish ways. His mother's death, which everyone knew was no accident, changed the boy at age 8. He became distant and determined, intensely focused on learning the skills he needed to survive. His early aptitude with the sword grew into fearsome skill; even in this militaristic kingdom it would be difficult to find a challenger for him. And his enemies vanished, lost in the desert sands, in impressive numbers.

At age 15, a boy of Hueco Mundo becomes a man. He loses the protection of being seen as a child, takes on his father's name if he is found worthy or lives a bastard if not, and is expected to marry, fight, or earn his keep however he may. A royal prince is a very different animal. At 15, he is open game. If he survives to 20, then and only then does he earn the full rewards of manhood.

To meet the prince at age 15, one would first think him haughty and rather dim. A few minutes later one may change the description to kind and gullible. Many misjudged and tried to take advantage, realizing their mistake far too late and never living long enough to warn others. Even Ichimaru Gin, a man with layers of deception in every thought and action, found the prince hard to predict, and that made him nervous. The boy's mask was too refined, his mind too seeped in the machinations of his father's court. Gin struggled to think of how to earn the trust, favor, or merely the disdainful appreciation of this prince. He needed one or all three, but did not see a way to obtain any without risking the prince's displeasure.

Then fortune proved that she is a slut, spreading her legs regardless of whether the recipient had ever done a good deed to earn her favors. His father wished to give the prince the gift of manhood, a fairly common tradition for both sons and daughters that brought Gin a large share of his disposable income. He had dozens of brothels across Hueco Mundo, and dozens more in other kingdoms. Most were separated from his name, and the cut of the profits arrived automatically. Only one establishment was run by Gin personally, and only his carefully selected clients were ever extended an invitation. The King, of course, was welcome with no invitation at all.

Where else, then, would King Aizen send his intended heir? The manor was closed for 7 days and 8 nights to all except the prince, his personal guard, and his constant companion. Suddenly, Gin began to see the solution to his problem, handed to him on a silver platter. The answer was a gift. A gift for his ascension to heir apparent. A gift that he would never ask for, never expect, and never forget.

Every whore, servant, and guard in the manor would report back the actions and the words of the prince to him. He would use the information to find that perfect gift. The prince's guard abstained from the vast array of partners at his beck and call. The friend, a noble himself and no stranger to whorehouses, was the most predictable of customers, content to fuck his brain's out, sleep, eat, and fuck again. But once more the prince proved more difficult to read.

The first evening and night was no great revelation, only a small surprise. Reports said the prince loved to provide his partners with pleasure, and did not rush to bed as quickly as possible like his friend. He first 'invited' the lovely Nanao to his room, where he stripped her of her role as dominatrix and proceeded to give her orgasm after orgasm in every way that either of them could think of. He did not even properly fuck her, just handled his own needs while he worked her into another frenzy.

The most popular of the new whores, a lovely 16-year-old boy that already had a reputation as an expert in both heterosexual and homosexual pleasure, spent the night with the prince. He fed the whore strawberries while he asked questions about sex and listened to stories. The prince carefully and enthusiastically followed Yumichika's instructions on how to give the perfect blowjob. Unsatisfied with his performance, he coaxed further pointers and tried again. The third attempt left the whore in tears and the prince content. Then he took the same level of care learning the ins and outs, pun intended, of fucking a man, leaving the professional to sleep it off for a day and a half. The poor whore was practically in love.

Gin was having trouble deciding what to make of this when the prince sat down with him for breakfast. The boy boldly and frankly questioned him, and Gin was only too happy to guide the rest of the prince's explorations. Steering him to the best partners to tease out the rest of the boy's preferences, a checklist of qualities needed began to form. At the halfway point of the prince's visit, Gin introduced the boy to more complex desires. He willingly tried his hand with experienced masochists, trying to deliver what each sought. But the desire to inflict true pain or receive it was not in the boy.

Domination earned a great deal more of his interest, and most of the remainder of the visit was spent with various pets, well-trained and in training. He enjoyed the control. And he was quite popular with this particular set of whores, the dedication to the submissive's pleasure a highly sought quality in a dominant, and few were as dedicated as the handsome young man.

The prince left the manor, and Gin felt he had earned some good will but not nearly enough. In their discussions, Gin had made it clear that the boy was welcome to return at any time. Justifiably, the prince had never taken a serious lover and was cautious about even casual relations. Everyone wanted something from him or his father, and the boy did not like the idea of bedding someone to find a bribe or a knife in his lover's hand. So the boy took him up on the offer, preferring the services of professionals, and over the next two years Gin refined his checklist as the prince refined his tastes.

As the boy young man neared 17, the search began in earnest. Word went out to agents near and far, and Gin traveled extensively to oversee the selection.

Young, but of legal age. The prince had spent time with all ages, but those his age and younger received more time and repeat visits. Gin had tested the waters, instructing an underage serving boy with plenty of experience to flirt with the prince. The look of absolute disgust on the young man's face made it clear that there was a line he would not cross. The incident was swept under the rug, Gin's denials that he was involved in any activities involving children were not believed, but required.

Innocent. If untouched was not possible, at the very least inexperienced. The prince appreciated the professionals, but the gift was to be his and his alone. The most valuable aspect was the opportunity to train the gift the way the young man wished, and enjoy the rewards of creating his own toy.

Male, most likely. If the gift were to last, the sexual drive of a male would better hold the prince's attention. There were plenty of women with insatiable appetites, they were some of his most exacting clients. But to find a young, innocent female and count on the girl being able to frequently satisfy the prince . . . Gin did not rule out the possibility of a girl, but he would be a harsh judge of any female candidates.

Exotic. Like many who could choose any partner they wished, the prince was attracted to the unusual. He was surrounded by the archetypal beauties of Las Noches day after day. When given the choice, he sought the foreign, the ones that would not blend in with his court.

Small. At least smaller than the prince, who was not a hulking man by any means. But delicate was even better if it could be found without weakness. He was a prince of brutal killers, he would not want a lover that would break easily, just one that looked like he would shatter.

Submissive, yet unbroken. The completely passive pets only entertained him a short time. He often enjoyed it when his partner participated, he even tolerated some amount of challenge. But he would want to be able to call the shots in bed when he wished, and have his lover surrender completely.

Intelligent. A double edged sword, this necessary requirement eliminated many who passed all other criteria. He liked to converse, he liked his partner to have an opinion when asked. Gin's whores were too well trained to anger the prince, so intelligence was an unknown risk. But he did believe it was worth the risk. And if the gift proved too smart for its own good, the prince would enjoy breaking the poor thing.

It was a daunting challenge, and he spent a fortune in time and money to try to find as many qualities in one pretty package as possible. When the prince turned 19, the final candidates were selected, and teams sent to keep them safe and under close surveillance. As the ascension approached, Gin made his choice, dispatching his best agent to bring him the one perfect and most unexpected gift for the man who would have everything.

Satisfied with the painstaking plans of years coming to fruition, Gin sought out his own treasure. Having the finest whores available, Gin had found himself seeking out the company of only one again and again. For her long, strong legs, her creamy thighs, her astounding curves, but most of all for her steel eyes that held no judgment, no plots to ingratiate herself or win his love, he sought her out. His own treasure would share genuine lust with him to reward his hard work, and he would sleep content under the curtain of her long, luxurious, strawberry-blonde hair.


	2. 2 - How the Mighty Have Fallen

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 **Chapter 2**

 **How the Mighty Have Fallen**

When he woke in the dark, Toshiro didn't panic at first. He preferred thick curtains completely drawn, no lights or even hints of light under the doorway. He slept best in pitch black, so it took him a moment to register that anything was wrong. For starters, he was sore all over. The surface he was on was hard, and his fingers found smooth wood covered by a thin material. The air was close and hot, like the air in a bathroom filled with steam. It was thick to breathe, and he smelled wood, sweat, and dirt. He couldn't hear anything distinct, only random creaking. Everything swayed gently side to side, punctuated by a rough jolt and heavier movement for a few seconds so that he knew the swaying wasn't just dizziness.

Groaning, he raised his hand to examine the pain in his head, only to find his hand halted at another wood surface no more than six inches above him. That's when the fear and anger started to rise. But he was a logical person, and he let his hands and feet gather information, measuring the narrow, confined space. He found small holes through the wood, each covered by a thick cloth. Airholes, his brain said, and fear took the upper hand.

"Help! Is anyone there? Please, I need help! Hello? HELP!"

There was a series of loud noises outside of his tiny prison, and he kicked and yelled to gain the attention of whoever was making the noises.

"BRAT!"

A voice, right by the holes near his head. Female, and that was a relief. Men could be brutal beasts, but in his world, most women could be trusted to be kind.

"Hello? Can you help me? I can't get out."

"I will let you out. We will stop for lunch in two hours, and you can come out then."

"What? You can't . . ."

"Listen, brat! One more noise out of you, one word, one kick, and you'll be in there the rest of the day. Only I'll tie you up like a pig with a gag in your mouth. Understand?"

He almost spoke, and broke off with a gasp, holding very still. How could this be happening?

"Aren't you the clever one? Now continue to be smart, brat, and you just might survive."

Survive? He held his breath to stop a scream or a sob, he didn't know what would come out. Noises above as the owner of the cold voice left, and his strained breath echoed in the close confines. His mind started to race, pushing fear aside. He had been walking back from the river where Momo had begged him to take her to pick blackberries. Momo had run ahead, but he was dragging his feet, enjoying the open air and the red glow of early sunset.

When he saw a shadow, a small figure moving quickly through the trees on the ridge above, he had thought it was his adopted sister, come back to hurry him along or lingering to try to scare him. But even if Seireitei had been at peace for over 10 years, all were still trained to fight and to be always on guard. Inexperience, that's what he blamed. Focused on one figure as he drew his sword, he never saw whatever made a sudden noise behind him. Struggling as cloth was held tight over his face, it didn't seem to take long for the world to fade.

And now what? Held for ransom, most likely. He was his guardian's true nephew and only heir. Lord Ukitake may not be the richest man in Seireitei, but everyone knew he had a good heart. He was more likely to pay a ransom than most nobles. Toshiro was well educated, however. He knew that even if his uncle paid, there was only a small chance the kidnappers would hold up their end of the bargain. But they might keep him alive until the deal was done, as an insurance policy.

His chances were slim, and the best he could think of was to cooperate and seem as frail as he looked so that they had no excuse to harm him or bind him. He would need to be strong and able if an escape opportunity came along. Having some plan, however feeble, helped calm him. The two hours passed as his mind churned through all kinds of escape scenarios, even if he knew that it would all be up to luck.

A long time passed after the swaying stopped. Voices, indistinct, called to each other infrequently, and there were noises he imagined were the preparation of a rest area and a meal. Then the female voice returned.

"Brat, still alive in there?"

"Yes." Simple and clear. Give them no excuses.

"You stay perfectly still when I open this, or I will knock you out."

The sound of a lock being worked open, hinges swinging, and he had the foresight to squint before light flooded in so that he would not be blinded.

"Lift both your hands all the way up, wrists together."

He blinked until his eyes adjusted, while tight cloth-lined metal handcuffs were snapped around each wrist, only two links of chain between them holding his hands close together. Above him knelt a woman, severe looking with straight, short hair, angry eyes void of mercy, and close fitting black clothes.

"Sit up."

He did and kept his eyes close to her but looked around. He had been in a box, probably custom made for him, with many other pieces of cargo stored around and above. This probably allowed the kidnappers to get through the city gates with few questions, while he was still unconscious and unable to call for help. They were farther from the city than he had been in a long time. They must have driven all night and through the morning.

"Let me make a few things clear, slave."

He hissed, and trembled in anger. He was no slave! Seireitei did still have slavery, though it was increasingly disapproved of and would surely would be abolished when the old king died. She sneered at him, daring him to argue.

"You are now property. You will do as told without question. You are worth more unmarked, but believe me I know many, many ways to discipline you without leaving scars, and you have three weeks of travel to heal. It is your choice, behave and the journey will not be too hard on you. Or fight your fate and enjoy your pride in pain and blood."

Hot fury made him clench his fists and dream of tackling this woman, showing her that he was no weak victim. Cold logic agreed with her words. It was his own resolve, to cooperate and watch for his chance to escape or kill his captors. He spoke between clenched teeth, giving his one hope voice.

"If you are doing this for money, then contact Lord Ukitake. You will have your ransom."

The woman was small and lithe, but she showed her strength and speed clearly. With one arm wrapped tight around his throat, she pulled him upright and turned him to face the small campfire in the clearing. Two men and one woman were there, working to cook and set up a quick camp.

"How many do you see, slave?"

His eyes darted.

"Seven."

"Where?"

"Three at the fire, two to my right, 10 feet apart in the underbrush. One forward, five feet from the pile of boulders. One to the left, crouched in the branches."

"Not entirely blind, then." She gave a shrill whistle, and he watched as a crowd gathered near the fire. 13, many so well hidden it was as if they appeared out of thin air.

"What does that tell you, clever slave?"

"You did not come for something as simple as ransom money. Someone powerful sent you. Why? What do you want with me?"

"That is the end of polite conversation, slave. You begin to understand, there is no escape for you now. You do not speak again unless spoken to."

She made a gesture with one hand, releasing him to stumble, finding his footing in his little box. Most of the fighters gathered wore partial face masks of black cloth. At her signal, one approached, only impassive eyes visible, and stood before the captive with a silent threat. He did not fight, but he flinched when he felt the woman reach to his neck and fasten another cloth lined piece of metal around his neck. How he did not scream or faint or throw himself at his captors, he could not understand.

Numb, stunned, he followed as the chain attached to his collar directed, following the black clad man to the fire, sitting as he was pushed down. He stared at the bowl of food placed in his bound hands.

"Eat." Toshiro looked at him blankly as seconds passed.

"Eat, or I will shove every bit of it down your throat." The man's voice was not kind, nor unkind. His tone was as disinterested as his eyes.

Shifting the bowl into his lap, his bound hands moved together to lift the spoon and he ate. The food had no flavor, and he forced himself to swallow and take another bite. Then another, moving mechanically until the bowl was empty. He set it down on the ground, picking up the cup of water with more interest. He drank it all, and dropped the cup from his hands as he was yanked to his feet. He coughed at the pressure around his neck and stumbled after the man into the forest. A short distance away from the camp they stopped.

"Piss, shit, whatever you need to do. Don't do it, and you'll be locked in your own filth for the next 6 hours."

Toshiro shuddered, certain he could get no lower as he fumbled awkwardly to relieve himself as another man stood watch, holding a chain fastened to his neck. Following with eyes glazed in confusion and shame, he returned to the fire to learn how wrong he was. He knew exactly what was about to happen as soon as he saw the woman lift the metal rod from the fire.

Minutes later his small body was pinned to the ground, a knee in the small of his back pressing him into the ground, another black clad figure kneeling in front of him, pushing his head into the dirt. He thought he had at least bruised the man holding him down, but the woman had dodged too quickly for him to catch her with the powerful kick he had aimed at her chest. Fighting hadn't helped, but he could not stop struggling until the hot metal made contact with the skin of his shoulderblade.

He had never heard anyone scream the way he did. He woke from nightmares sometimes, but the loud, shrill scream he let lose now was far beyond anything he had ever heard. The pain was so great that it almost disappeared, so pervasive and sharp that it almost seemed like it wasn't really happening, it couldn't be happening to him. He was Hitsugaya Toshiro, nephew and heir of Ukitake Juushiro. His life had no place for chains, for being pinned in the filth, his mouth filling with dirt and ash as he screamed and bit the earth. It was not possible that the young nobleman with a bright future assured could be branded a slave.

Toshiro refused to give in to the beckoning dark. He was too strong to pass out, to flee from something as human and base as pain, as agony. But he couldn't stop the whining groans as his screams died down and the searing flesh lit every nerve in his body. His life of privilege had not prepared him for this. He focused on the pain, letting it wash over his senses and torment him fully as he lay in the dirt. He was no longer held down, but he stayed, just listening to the slight sizzle so close to his ear. He wanted to remember every second of this, to hold on to the moment he was brought down from the heights of his happy life to the depths of misery.

Once more he was yanked to his feet by the collar around his neck, the collar of a slave. Someone roughly smeared an ointment over his burnt flesh, and he groaned again, barely holding himself up to keep from choking. The woman pulled his torn shirt farther off him, and the man lifted his arm while she wrapped a bandage around him. He observed all of this through a haze, still concentrating on the fiery nerves to capture every second of his torment.

The man gave up after the third time Toshiro fell to his knees. His small body was hoisted over a shoulder like so much baggage, and he strangled the scream that tried to escape when he was dropped onto his back, giving the dying nerves another rush of agony. The lid closed, and with the darkness to protect him, he let himself weep. Shifting his weight to relieve the contact of his skin on the wood, he was fading in and out of consciousness before the swaying even began.


	3. 3 - Abandon Hope

**A/N - Don't worry, Ichigo's entrance is coming soon. First, some other characters!**

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Chapter 3

Abandon Hope

The golden opportunity never came. He watched for it, waited to find a weakness. With so many guarding him, there was never a moment when his guard was asleep, or not paying attention. After the first week, he was allowed to sit in the open air instead of in the box. He had just enough slack to sit or lie down in the canopied bed of the wagon, the chain of his collar secured to the frame of the cart. A border must have been crossed; they were far enough from home now that he would not be recognized. They never said where they were taking him, but signs on the road and a nobleman's education told him enough. They must have skirted around the vast city at the heart of Rukongai, and now had passed into the sparsely populated plains belonging to Wandenreich.

Three weeks, the bitch had told him. With the pace and direction, he did not need to ask. Hueco Mundo, the vast desert kingdom with a savage reputation. A place where children murdered their siblings without a bat of an eye to secure their place in line for power. A massive military and a King that enjoyed bloodshed. Their King never used his might to take other kingdoms, he just took what he wanted and withdrew, leaving ruin in his wake. What or who could possibly want him there? He wouldn't not have survived infancy in a noble house of Las Noches, with his small body, pale complexion; he might be stronger now, but he had been a weak child. He had heard that children such as he were left in the desert by their own mothers.

More than a week, 10 days more accurately, they had been traveling. This was a well-planned and well-funded mission. Horses and supplies, along with reinforcements, awaited at several stages. There was now a full company of 24 cold eyed warriors, all completely obedient to the bitch. He had heard her name, Soi-fon, but to him she would always and only be the bitch.

The bitch had proven the truth of her threats. His few attempts to resist, question, or talk back were met with swift punishment. She left no other marks than the brand and fading bruises. Who knew how much pain a simple pressure point could cause, or just how badly a thin slice on the roof of the mouth could irritate and sting. Crippling pains, minor and annoying pains that lasted days, she inflicted them without one moment's hesitation.

10 days and the young nobleman was nowhere in sight. He kept his eyes down, his mouth shut. He walked close behind whichever of his captors was assigned to guard him and walk him each evening like a dog, not giving them any reason to pull him. He ate what he was given, drank what was put in front of him, slept when and where he was told.

Still, in the back of his mind was the childish wish that he would wake and find himself in his comfortable bed. An early riser, he would take his time getting ready for the day, and watch the sunrise from his balcony as he sipped tea. He would bury the nightmare he had woken from, rubbing his unblemished shoulder as the memory faded. Or any moment now, a squad of cavalry would crest the hill and rush to slaughter the black-clad men and women. The bitch would be run down under hoof and spear. Then the long, white hair of his uncle would fall around him as he hugged his nephew and apologized for allowing such a horrid thing to happen.

Such naive dreams. They did not cause him remorse, and any hope they engendered quickly faded. He indulged less in these fantasies as the miles separating the strong, independent young man from the crushed boy slave piled up, and his hope was dwindling as with each clop of the horses' hooves they drew closer to his doom.

ooooooooooOOOOOOOOOOoooooooooo

He heard the bitch talking to one of the new ones at the supply point. They were in Hueco Mundo proper now, and the way stations were well stocked and ready. She sent a fast courier ahead, to let whoever was expecting them know that they were on schedule. Only 4 more days and he would finally know his fate. Not that he didn't know the broad strokes of the picture. Soldiers talk. It seemed the elite were the ones that captured him. Those never spoke without purpose. But the army surrounding him now contained a good number of foot soldiers, and they love to gossip.

And so, he learned that he was destined for a high-class whorehouse. At first, he couldn't understand it. Why? He was a rather scrawny, odd looking, small freak. Despite wealth, intelligence, and good connections, his uncle had to go to some trouble finding candidates for engagement due to nothing more than his appearance. But he heard the whispers of the soldiers, the thinly veiled comments. He saw the looks, the cold eyes of his elite guards in contrast with the heated, lingering gazes of the common soldiery. They found him attractive; this was about men. More than that, when the soldiers talked to each other about him, he was called beautiful, precious, angelic, and all kinds of more vulgar words that put a new fear in his soul.

Life had changed as much as possible. What would the next blow be? He was to be a whore for men's pleasure. Would he be tortured? He knew of all kinds of violent and disgusting fetishes. What would he be subjected to? Or would he be a prized slut, a noble slave treated like a cheap, gaudy treasure until he aged and was no longer worth his upkeep? What happened to a discarded bedboy? These thoughts kept his eyes down, kept his mouth shut. Again, he would have to choose whether to fight for what little pride he had left, or try to appease his owners and his rapists to have a chance to survive. Survive for what?

Then Toshiro realized something he should have thought of weeks ago. He was staring at his shoes, or watching the dirty hooves plod along, when he may never see anything again but a bed, or a dungeon and four walls. He looked up, looked around. He was too late. The trees had yielded to barren plains over a week ago. The plains had been killed by the desert days ago.

Still, he kept his eyes up. He sat close to the open edge of the wagon and leaned against the chain to watch the sky and the dunes. He even watched the soldiers, their horses. He listened to the scarce wildlife, the occasional howl of wolves, the whispered rush of wings when a lucky, free raven flew close overhead. The company started sleeping through the heat of the day and traveling evening through morning, and the stars gave him some small comfort and great beauty. The skies were unobstructed here, a sea of diamond on pitch black. His neck and back ached as he spent hours craning his body back to soak in as much of the night sky as possible, in case he never saw it again.

The skies were lost to him a night early. The final waystation had a carriage waiting, and he was washed roughly, standing naked in front of four guards as one man threw water on him and another scrubbed him with a dingy rag. At least they took care not to disturb the raw flesh of his brand, which was carefully cleaned and bandaged with new salve every morning by the bitch herself. He was made to dress in simple but clean clothes, and bundled inside the carriage. The bitch was inside, and he stared at her insolently as she wrapped the chain around her arm and hand. What could she do to him now, when he was about to be delivered? Her sinister grin widened, and his battered courage failed. His final night was spent staring at the floor, listening to the growing noise as they entered the slum city surrounding the high walls of Las Noches with the dawn.

Perhaps another hour passed with no words spoken. Toshiro leaned back against the cushioned bench, the most comfortable seat he had since he saw home for the last time. He did not even look when the carriage was stopped and examined at the city walls. The bitch handed over papers, and the guard eyed him as he sagged against the carriage wall, listless and shut down. Despite appearances, the young slave listened to everything, noted every sound and scent. It would be an unreliable map, but you could find your way by the hot scent of a blacksmith's shop, the tinkling of many windchimes in a shop window, the loud calls of merchants at an open-air market. The hope of escape was not dead, just remote. If he happened to get away, could he hide among the multitude? Hide his eyes, darken his hair with whatever he could find, even dirt and shit.

The final part of the journey he kept his eyes closed, letting his other senses take over. The air grew clean again, the ride smoother as a better district was entered. A rattling of the chain preceded a change in the horses' gait. The carriage came to a stop.

"Wake up, slave. Well done, you survived the journey with barely a scratch. Your new master will be pleased."

Toshiro swallowed down bile. He had thrown up every meal for two days, there was nothing left.

"If ever there comes a day when I am restored to my rightful place, I will remember you."

"Not the first idle threat I've heard, brat. I pity you."

He was finished. He had lost everything. Nothing left but the pity of a heartless torturer. He followed her out before she had an excuse to pull him. A large manor house loomed in front of him, and he raised his head, straightening the plain clothes. He would enter with at least a shadow of his dignity, and hope that a small show of his worth would serve him well.

It was a whorehouse, he did not know what to expect. He had never visited such an establishment, though rumor led him to believe whorehouses were not usually manors larger and grander than his uncle's. And he certainly did not expect the high-pitched squeal and the sudden feeling of being suffocated.

"Ugh . . . mmph . . . uff . . . "

"What, sweetie?" He could breathe, but only for a moment and he was smothered again. "Oh, you are tooooo cuuuuute!"

In a last effort to gain oxygen, he dropped his weight suddenly, slipping through her arms, yelping as the pressure of her hold ran across his shoulder. He landed on his knees, face once buried in ample cleavage now shoved right into her crotch. With another yelp he fell backwards, sprawling on the floor awkwardly. So much for a dignified entrance. He sputtered as he caught his breath and looked up at the valley of doom as the woman leaned over him with a concerned expression.

"Are you okay, sweetie? It had to be such a hard journey. Let Rangiku make it all better, okay?"

She didn't make any sense. This couldn't be his owner, could it? Was she one of the prostitutes? He avoided the hand she extended, forcing himself back on to his feet several steps away from the crazy blonde. She was beautiful, he now noticed. Tall and curvy, her generous assets and figure shown to great effect by a slinky yet elegant floor length gown. It was hardly appropriate, with an exceedingly low cut, exposed sides and stomach, and a very long slit up the skirt. Yes, Toshiro decided, definitely one of the whores.

Another woman stepped into view. This one had a very different look, serious and almost intimidating. Her black dress fit close, revealing not by gaps in the fabric, but by skimming along her body like a second skin. Her black hair was pulled up tightly with one thick lock down to frame half of her face, and almond shaped glasses added more severity to her expression. She stepped up to the bitch and handed her a thick envelope.

"Pleasure doing business with you, Mistress Nanao." The bitch handed the other woman the chain and a key, ignoring a haughty sniff from the woman as she turned and left with no further words.

Toshiro stood, uncertain and silent, but patching up his pride and standing straighter, lifting his chin.

"Vile woman. It's a shame you had to deal with her, Toshiro." The blonde looked back at him kindly. "Give me that key, Ise. Now then, cutie, let's get you fed and clean."

He couldn't stop himself from leaning back as she moved toward him. Her hands worked at his neck for a moment, and the heavy collar was unlocked, swung open and dropped with a clang to the floor. Her blue-gray eyes glared at it with disgust. Then she had his hands in one of hers and was unlocking the handcuffs.

"Every door and window is guarded, sweetie. You'll be dead before you reach the wall, so don't do anything foolish, okay?"

He nodded and she clicked open the cuffs. Despite the cloth lining, his wrists were bruised. He was certain his neck looked worse.

"That's better! Now, what would you like first? A wonderful meal? A hot bath with, let's see, vanilla and sakura blossom, I think? And after both, a big feather bed."

His eyes were wide, and he blinked in astonishment. This was not going as expected.

"A bath, thank you."

"So adorable! Come along, then." She grabbed his hand and tugged him along up a wide set of stairs. "Your quarters are on the second floor, east wing. That's the one to the right, sweetie. I'll have to give you the tour later, there's so much to see!"

Toshiro rushed to keep up with her longer strides, letting his mind note and map out the features of the manor while she chattered on. If this was a whorehouse, the soldiers had been right about the high-end part. How high-end? This was a palace. At least that might mean he would be handled, used, raped less. High paying customers wouldn't want a worn-out whore. Another woman was following them, in a maid outfit that you would expect in such a place, skimpy, high skirt barely covering anything, breasts ready to spill out of the frilly collar. How could you clean anything in such a tiny slip of cloth?

"Here we go!" He had counted, this was the fourth door on the right side of the hallway. She opened it with a flourish, tugging him in and letting go of his hand.

"This is your room. The maids will be in late morning, and you can have tea service here. Meals are in the main hall, we'll go there next. Your measurements arrived weeks ago, so you'll find all you need as far as clothing."

He looked around as she talked. It wasn't as big or as suited to his personal taste as his own room, of course. There was no sitting room, but plenty of space for a huge bed and a table with a couch and two chairs around it. The large wardrobe was open, and bursting with clothes. The maid had slipped past them and he heard water running through the open door beside the wardrobe.

"The big baths downstairs are amazing, but I figured you'd want some privacy to settle in. Kiko, some vanilla and sakura in the bath, please. Is your hair natural, sweetie?"

"Ah . . . yes, yes it is."

"Aren't you lucky! You could color it any way you want, too. Not that I would, it suits you and your eyes. Will you let me pick your outfit? Not that you'll be meeting a lot of people today, but best foot forward and all that."

He had wandered away as she started rummaging through the wardrobe. He doubted she needed his input and consent, and he didn't care. Anything was better than the plain clothes he was wearing, or the filthy rags his own clothing had slowly turned into. The window looked out over a manicured yard, a few green plants and decorative boulders in seas of raked stone. A high wall separated the grounds from the next estate, only slightly less grand. While he gazed out, seeing the entire city spread out below the higher ground of the noble houses, she stepped closer quietly.

"Your bath is almost ready. Will you require a bathing attendant or help dressing?"

He winced. She knew at least a little of his history. He would indeed have had an attendant, though he often dismissed them. Did everyone here know who and what he had been, how far he had fallen? Well, he was a slave now, just like them.

"No, I can bathe and dress. Um . . . I may need help bandaging my shoulder. And antiseptic if you have any."

"Alrighty, then. Take your time, sweetie, and just push the button by the door when you are ready for assistance. Then I'll come to take you down for a nice dinner."

She turned to leave, the maid waiting for her by the door.

"Rangiku?"

"Yes, sweetie?"

He faced her. "Thank you, Rangiku, for being kind."

She gave him a kind, serious smile. "Anytime, Toshiro."


	4. 4 - Second Life

.

Chapter 4

Second Life

Toshiro was confused. He hated not understanding, or he had before his life turned to shit. No one would tell him what he was doing here, only that the master of the house would give him the details when he wanted to. Four days he had lived in relative luxury. No one objected when he took books from the library and disappeared into his room, though Rangiku did come drag him downstairs when he tried to skip lunch. The other residents were seen, mostly at meals. There were at least 30 others plus various servants, drifting in throughout the long mealtimes. A few greeted him but he cut off attempts to converse.

Clients came and went at all hours of the day and night, but the house was too exclusive to be crowded. They were mostly men, but a good number of women which surprised him. Not all were attractive or kind looking, but each one exuded wealth and self-importance. The clients were his people, nobles who he may have dined with if their two countries were closer together, may have gone hunting with, may even have married into their families. Some eyed him when he was in public at meals, and his stomach clenched in dread every time. He wondered when one would finally demand his 'services.'

Alone in his room, he was acutely aware of the muffled sounds around him. The walls were thick, but some noises tend to carry. As far as he could tell, the 'staff' was a mix of male and female, young and mature. No one truly old, of course, which made him wonder again where old whores go to die. Beauty was everywhere, and just next door was a pretty, vain male with a client every day, and another every night. And he had a tendency to scream quite loud enough for Toshiro to hear. He jumped the first time, and nearly ran out to see if someone needed help. Then he realized that the rhythmic screams were not of pain. No, just the opposite. And he listened in embarrassment and curiosity.

Yumichika was his name, though most of his guests called him Yumi, loudly and repeatedly. Toshiro endured it, and the logical part of him tried to learn from it. If he was to survive this, it would help to know just a little about what was expected. He had exchanged kisses with a pretty, local girl he had met at a festival. He fondly remembered increasing contact and desire. A few months before he was captured, they had spent a day together in the countryside. He had stopped himself, with her leaning back against a grassy slope under him, his hands under her clothing, feeling hot, soft flesh, the panting, the tension of two young people who didn't want to understand consequences. She could never be his wife. If he had continued, she risked losing any chance of an honorable marriage. They had not seen each other again.

And he was a young male, he had masturbated and fantasized. But though a young noble had many opportunities to exploit those around him, he had never had sex. He could have taken any servant girl in the household, but it was not in him to use his position in such a way, even if some would have been willing. He knew his future. His uncle had discussed various options for his engagement. Eventually he would have had sex with a woman, married a woman, had children and ruled his little corner of the world with a woman. As far out of his depth as he was, he listened to his neighbor and his male clients and imagined, trying to get a grasp on what was going to be demanded of him.

The library turned out to be a great help. He should have predicted it. There were normal novels, historical records, all the things you would expect. But at least a third of the books were erotica and studies on sexuality. He tried both, but the more factual texts were the most enlightening. Thus, he learned many things that he feared would be all too helpful, how to stimulate a clitoris, how to stimulate a prostate, where to find common erogenous zones on females and males, tips on how to orally pleasure a male, how to prepare for anal penetration . . . good lord, what had he come to?

Yet he was a 15-year-old male virgin. Reading such things, surrounded by the sound and scent of sex, it was enough to distract him from thoughts of suicide. Perhaps, just perhaps his life here would not be completely unbearable. If he had grown up on the street, fighting for food and safety, this would be a paradise. Only his pride, instilled and encouraged since birth, separated him from the street urchin grateful to be flat on his back for comfort and pleasure. His pretty neighbor Yumichika certainly seemed happy with his lot in life, and the man radiated pride in himself.

All of these thoughts had him more confused than ever on the fifth day, when a tall, thin man with silvery hair and a wide grin joined the various whores for dinner. He sat in the almost throne-like chair at the head of the table, always empty before, with Rangiku beside him. He looked too young to be the master of the house, but as the squinted eyes turned his way, Toshiro knew that the time had come to learn his fate.

Reading those books had led him to believe one of two things was next. Either the master of the house wanted him first, and he had only been left waiting for the man's time or appetite. Or, the master would evaluate him in some way and his virginity would be offered to some favored client at a high price. This was a common practice according to the books. Even if he was not a suspected virgin, just being new and different made him more valuable.

Toshiro was glad that he had dressed well today, not that there was much option. The wardrobe was stocked with fine clothes. Nothing grand enough to wear to court, but the type of clothing he might wear to a casual dinner with his peers. The cut was different than at home, and he was not sure if some of the differences were due to culture or to his situation. Based on the clothing of clients and the master of the house, it could be either. Lighter clothing and more exposure seemed the norm here. The pants were close at the hip and the lower leg, looser along the thigh. They showed off his calves far more than he was used to. There were no undershirts, a silky lining in each jacket instead. The jacket bared far more shoulder and breastbone, with no contact with his neck at all. Yet he could not deny the quality and comfort of the clothing, nor deny that he liked what he saw in the mirror.

He continued his meal calmly, in his usual silence. His owner and Rangiku left together shortly after he arrived, and as Toshiro finished dinner and stood to leave, the kind redhead returned for him. He followed her to an open set of double doors, which she closed behind him and left. He walked forward, proud and calm though inside he fought fear and a seething anger. This was the man who tore him away from the last of his family, had him branded a slave, planned to profit from his misery. This was his murderer, casually sitting on a couch and grinning at him.

He stood with head high, mind noting several objects that would serve as effective weapons, but also noting the two guards flanking the villain. At the master's right hand, a solid man with spiked black hair, tattoos, and small eyes fixed on him. At the master's left, an even larger man with a thin mustache and dark sunglasses, scowling at nothing. Both carried swords. It would be futile to attack, unless he was very, very lucky. And luck was something Toshiro no longer believed was on his side.

"It is a great pleasure to finally meet you, Hitsugaya Toshiro. Please, sit and talk with me."

His fists clenched and opened with the effort to keep from shaking in fury. He had nothing he could protect, this man owned him through treachery and force. He moved to sit in the chair, deliberately turning his head away, settling casually into the chair. This was his second chance at a first impression, his logical side reminded him. Show his worth, set his price, this was the only chance he had to not be thrown in with the common whores.

"I have looked forward to this day for many years. I must say you are everything that I thought you would become."

His eyes narrowed. "You planned to do this to me long ago? Did my family wrong you in some way? What possible reason could you have to commit such a crime?"

The bastard giggled as he leaned forward to pour two cups of tea. He pushed one toward Toshiro and took the other. Toshiro debated a moment and decided on another show of strength. He took the cup and drank as if sitting in a parlor with a friend.

"You are in no position to ask those particular questions, little beauty. But I will tell you that you are the answer to a riddle, one I worked very hard to solve for the past five years or so. Now, you may ask me what your future holds, if you like."

He took another drink, proud that his hands did not tremble. So far, he had more questions than when he came in.

"Am I not to be forced into prostitution for your profit? Do you intend to sell me then?"

His narrow face tilted. "Neither. Though I do not doubt you could earn me enough to pay for the expense of acquiring you. I can think of several clients who would pay a king's ransom to defile that handsome little body of yours."

Toshiro's temper got the better of him. With a hiss he leaned into the table, the fine cup breaking between his hand and the wood. Hot tea, and he suspected blood pooled on the edge and dripped onto the priceless rug. His other hand dug small gouges in the table.

"What then, _master_ ," he spat the word, ignoring the fact that two swords were now bare and braced to strike. They would be doing him a favor. "What gain for you could justify a strike against a noble house, and the ruin of one who has done nothing to deserve this fate?"

He was further enraged when the bastard did not even shrink back. No, he giggled again and reached one long arm out. Toshiro refused to be the one to flinch, his teeth grinding as long, cold fingers stroked his cheek.

"Yes, I chose well; you are a perfect match for him. Do not call me master, little beauty. To my eternal regret, you are not to be mine."

The bony hand gripped his chin with surprising strength and the silver head came forward. Light blue eyes opened just a crack and the smile widened.

"You see, you are my gift, my carefully selected birthday present for my future king. So, little beauty, do try to please him. You may not find it an easy task, but if you fail you will find yourself back in my hands. And I will not be pleased."

Toshiro jerked back. Now he was shaking as fury, disgust, and offense took their turns destroying his act of calm strength and confidence. A motion from that cold hand, and the larger of the two bodyguards sheathed his sword and stepped around the table. Toshiro shrunk away from him, only to be grabbed by his upper arm, hoisted to his feet and half dragged to the doors. He should not fight, and luckily the journey to the door was too short for anything but a shout of rage. The door was yanked open and he was casually tossed into the foyer, the door shut leaving him red faced and uselessly furious, on his ass once more in front of a concerned but calm Rangiku.

He glared at her outstretched hand, rising quickly and turning to storm off to his room, fists clenched and snarling. Yumichika and some young, completely bald client backed to the side as he stalked down the hall, cursing under his breath. The door was too heavy for a satisfying slam. There wasn't much in the room that he could conveniently toss into walls or pound into splinters. And the damned door had no lock. Rangiku, and to his vague surprise, Yumichika had entered but both took a step away as he threw his head back and screamed at the ceiling. It didn't really help, and he threw himself on the bed, howling again into the soft blankets, pounding his fists into the unsatisfyingly yielding mattress.

Useless, helpless. Inches from the man who had destroyed his life and any chance of happiness and he had accomplished nothing. Why hadn't he launched himself forward and ripped that bastard's throat out with his fucking teeth? Had he resigned himself to his fate so much that he was not willing to die for revenge? Suddenly all the energy left him. He was just exhausted, aching with tension and the absence of adrenaline. He stilled, turning his head to breathe, to continue his pathetic existence.

The surface shifted, and a hand rubbed his back. He supposed it was meant to be soothing.

"Toshiro, honey, what did Gin say to you?"

"Gin?"

"Ichimaru Gin, master of the house." Yumichika's voice, he shifted his head to see the man leaning against the bedpost, looking disinterestedly at his fingernails. He moved his head back to a more comfortable position.

"Why do you care?"

"We try to look out for each other, sweetie. We may not be able to help anyone, not even ourselves, but we can at least listen and comfort one another."

"I don't care for comfort, Rangiku. I do not want to forget. I do not want to soften this."

"What do you mean?"

Yumichika spoke up when he didn't answer. "He's holding on to anger, Ran-chan. The boy is pissed off and unwilling, and he was forced into this. He's not like us. Don't you get that?"

Toshiro tilted his head again, shocked to hear that the prancing, shallow pretty-boy at least partly understood. There was a heavy sigh from Rangiku, and she stopped rubbing his back.

"Oh, I get it. I guess I just don't see what good it does. Remember the ones who hurt you if you have to. But what good does it do to poison yourself every day? If it's Gin you want to kill, how does making every day you live into your own Hell accomplish that goal? Surely you will be better equipped to achieve revenge if you make the most of your life, build yourself up instead of wallowing in dreams of blood and sorrow."

He propped himself up on his elbows, twisting to stare at her. First Yumichika, then a frankly stunning and dark insight from the bubbly woman who was recently hanging on Ichimaru's arm with a smile on her face. Toshiro was so astounded that he didn't even think of pulling away when she pet his hair like he was a little kid.

"Some of us were blessed to be chosen to spend some time here. Others have come to terms with whatever tragedy left them with no other option. But every one of us has a sad story, Toshiro. I don't want to compare scars, but I know from experience that the ones who cannot find a path forward always fall into worse suffering, and not one of them ever broke free or achieved any type of justice. Now, what did Gin tell you?"

Pulling himself up, he sat cross-legged on the bed. He didn't trust them. She was all smiles around that bastard, and this was the most contact he had ever had with Yumichika. But there were no secrets he had to reveal. And already they had both helped, unasked. Their words rang true, and brought him back to what he already knew. He could die, there were plenty of ways to kill himself. Or he could live a hopeless and bitter whore, bemoaning his fate. Or he could live a whore with some shred of who he was and try to survive long enough to make some use of his new life.

"I won't be here much longer. He did not say when, but he only brought me here to give me away to some future king."

"Prince Kurosaki Ichigo? You lucky little bitch." He glared at the pretty boy.

"Lucky? I'm to be the personal property of another man, not that I haven't already fallen that far. But even in Seireitei, I have heard of Aizen and his son. Ruthless murderers and warmongers, men who kill their own kin, brag about having dozens of bastard children and then set them to fight each other, men who raze villages for nothing but a year's crops and scant coins, men who create, own, and sell slaves. Why would I not wish to do the honorable thing, and cut my throat before becoming that man's property?"

Rangiku and Yumichika were both staring. Of course, they were born and raised here. They probably waved little flags when the king rode by, and the ways of the nobles of Hueco Mundo were normal to them.

"Well, for one, he is quite amazing at giving head."

Rangiku burst out laughing. "Oh, I forgot about that! You dog, Yumi, you didn't stop yapping about that for a month!"

"Pardon?" He truly had no idea what was going on at this point.

"Okay, sweetie. Let us share some stories with you. Maybe we can help you just a little, after all."

Surprisingly, he did feel better after the two sat and told him all they knew about his soon-to-be owner. Just knowing a little of him beyond the brutal reputation made him a touch human. Toshiro was still determined to one day eat the heart of Ichimaru Gin. He was still scared of being completely at the mercy of the entire world, and scared of what would be done to him. But after a long talk and a long bath, he managed to sleep through the dawn.

There was no sign of the villain at breakfast or lunch. Today must not be the day he was to be gifted to a man like he was an object without any will. He spent the day reading the most modern histories he could find, though there was nothing in the library recent enough to include the prince. King Aizen's history was quite different when written by one of his own subjects, but then no living author could be honest without incurring the wrath of the ruling class. That was as true in Seireitei as it was in Hueco Mundo.

Afternoon tea arrived and he took a break from his reading. The tea had been different every day. His uncle was pretty set in his ways, with three favorite teas and nothing else. Toshiro had enjoyed the variety here, and this one was something dark but floral, an interesting flavor. He drank one cup down and took another to the couch to continue reading and sipping. The dizziness as he sat was attributed to the late night, his lack of appetite, and the stress. But when it got worse after he had curled himself into the cushions, he stared at the teacup and cursed. He started to move, intending to induce vomiting, but it was too late and his eyes slipped closed.


	5. 5 - Happy Birthday

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Chapter 6

Happy Birthday

"It's like some kind of extreme dare, isn't it?"

Renji wasn't wrong. A lot of the traditional activities seemed specifically designed to test his longevity. The hunt was one of the boldest examples. His 15th birthday had resulted in quite a collection of personal trophies, including 3 wolves, a desert lion, plenty of bucks, one half-sister, and a distant cousin. Since then, he'd developed a better network of alliances, and the inevitable assassins would face more than just his sword.

"Sending the heir apparent out into the desert with 50 of his siblings and peers, all fully armed and ready for a hunting accident. What could go wrong?"

Renji and Chad were the only obvious defenders he had, though truth be told he would do just fine without them. Scattered in the crowd were others he had at least some faith in as their interests were too closely aligned with his to betray him, and he had worked hard to isolate them from any other sources of power. Their stars were tied to his, and they would jump at the chance to make a kill to defend him. Ikkaku, Grimmjow, Izuru, Uryu and Neliel were all here, all carefully spaced out to keep an eye on the most dangerous and suspect of his 'friends' and relatives.

Ichigo thought again about what would have to change if he were to have children. He could not watch his own offspring go through this trial by fire, forced to kill or die for a crown, or in fact for nothing at all. Many nobles and royals fell not because they had ambition, but simply to 'thin the herd.'

He did not mind it for himself. It was as it always had been, he was raised a killer and a manipulator and he thrived in this dog-eat-dog world. If his own father had been a caring patriarch, Ichigo would have been nothing, just a middle child in a vast brood. He would not have risen to the top in a more peaceful environment, and perhaps his own children would not thank him for his protection. It was a brutal nation, after all, and if the ruler was chosen by nothing more significant than birth they would not sit long on the throne.

A problem for another day, when he had a wife and mistresses to provide him with said problems.

The high-pitched whistles sent a ripple of excitement trough the crowd of riders. His own black and red Harris Hawk, not the biggest or the fastest but a clever and proven hunter, was giving the signal. Ichigo and Renji exchanged excited glances as the pace picked up, Chad falling back to handle any who thought to strike second. It was nearly guaranteed, someone would make the first attempt in this first rush. The hunters fanning around and behind him were not all focused on the prey over the dune, and the prince was ready to collect his first trophy of the day.

ooooooooooOOOOOOOOOOoooooooooo

Another long-winded speech, another insincere toast, another gracious nod and raised glass at the old windbag or sleazy sack of ambition praising him, and another show of drinking when lips were tightly closed. Ichigo didn't survive through sheer luck. Getting even tipsy in this crowd would be a death sentence. these were all survivors of the power politics of Las Noches. The most innocent looking granny, the most harmless looking old fool, they were one and all soaked in blood.

His perfect foil, one of only two men he trusted, staggered to his feet and clapped Ichigo roughly on the back. He looked at Renji with false irritation as the fine crystal fell and shattered, conveniently masking the fact that the level of liquid remained steady through three such toasts. In true sycophantic fashion, courtiers yelled their congratulations and threw glasses in every direction, breaking crystal provided a fine soundtrack for his father's laughter.

While the crowd was distracted, Ichigo sat with a heavy sigh. Renji collapsed into his chair at Ichigo's left.

"That's going to be expensive."

Renji's voice was low and perfectly sober. He hadn't survived this long being the obnoxious, stupid drunkard he was playing tonight.

"And we all know who will pay for it."

He couldn't help but say at least one honest thing tonight, but that would be the end of it. If his father caught too many comments like that, it would lead to far more trouble than he could handle. He was no saint; he had vices to spare and had killed, intimidated, and blackmailed to keep his position. These guests who praised him were the steps to his throne, and he would not hesitate to grind them all underfoot. His father felt the same about his subjects. The King's disdainful glare swept the room, acknowledging and encouraging the blatant hypocrisy of the class system. For a moment, the dark eyes met his, and father and son shared a knowing smirk.

Ichigo was under no illusions when it came to his position and his father. They did not love each other. He had no doubt that his father would kill him personally if he thought it was to his benefit, or have him cut down by common assassins if that better served his goals. If he was completely certain that he would succeed, Ichigo wouldn't hesitate to dispose of his father, either. But he never once plotted or schemed for such a thing, not even in the privacy of his room alone. One hint of betrayal and he would be buried in the desert sands.

This state of affairs was fine with the prince. A clear set of rules made it easy to stand out from the dozens of royal children. Be smart, fast, decisive, obedient, and above all never be caught with any connection to treason. It amazed him how few of his half-siblings could grasp these simple concepts and rise to challenge him. He would learn everything the King knew, stand a step below him until he died of old age or someone's revenge, and then he would let his own opinions see the light of day. It was good to be prince, better than king. He, at least, still had some freedom and time to do as he wished.

The feast dragged on another hour before breaking down into a more informal atmosphere. Ichigo reached for his sword, and his personal guard stepped forward with the heavy blade. Chad shadowed him as he made the obligatory descent into the noble mass of swine to press palms and stir intrigue by seeming to carefully select those he favored with personal attention. In truth, there were only a few he sought out. The others were just to fuck with the crowd.

Four had died in today's hunt. They could have been captured, but leaving live enemies was considered a weakness, and his father would have been disappointed if there were not a few corpses. One half-brother he had not expected, who fell to his own sword. Renji accounted for a fourth son of a noble, looking to claim greater favor in his own house. Two others never made it close, another noble and a foolish young pawn who thought he was the lover of one of Ichigo's least subtle half-sisters. Some family members of the failed assassins were in the crowd, but Ichigo wasn't overly concerned. Even if they took offense, blood feuds in Las Noches were carried out in secret, not at ascension feasts.

His fiancé's guardian, a beast of a man with a craggy, scarred face only a mother could love, was his first stop. Zaraki Kenpachi was as close to an honest man as could be found in Hueco Mundo. He was a bloodthirsty murderer, and owned up to it in a way Ichigo sincerely appreciated. The man was a powerful ally that could not be bought. The alliance of marriage with his daughter, whether adopted or true hardly mattered, was a political maneuver worthy of the King. The girl, Orihime, was reportedly a true beauty, raised with a life at court in mind. Unfortunately, she was not trained to fight as many women are. She would have to be clever to be of use. He found the idea of having a wife appealing. They did not have to get along, or love each other, or even sleep together. But it would be best if she could rule at his side and not get herself killed.

Four ambassadors from neighboring kingdoms had come to present respects and gifts, and he took the time to be seen thanking each of them. Hueco Mundo had a well deserved reputation for war, raiding, and brutal treatment of enemies. The borders were more peaceful for the past several years, but neighboring kingdoms lived in terror of the ravenous appetite for riches and blood proven throughout history. Here the ambassadors came, swallowing fear and hatred to bend knee and offer appeasement. Ichigo held back his sneer as he greeted each one, but his disdain was clear.

A few of the more powerful nobles, and a few of the least powerful were honored with his personal greetings. Many said that his one selected guard and his one friend were all Ichigo had to guard his back. If that were true, all three of them would be dead. His network of allies and supplicants was as hidden as possible, and those who supported him knew not to expect obvious honors in court. They played the long game, counting on his gratitude, patronage, or at least his mercy when the throne was his.

As he headed back toward the royal dais, his father's favorite, Ichimaru Gin, as always was acknowledged. A useful man, Gin, and one of the few who did not seek the throne for his own house. No, he was far more ambitious than that. As the favorite delivered his congratulations, the thin hand passed him a thick envelope and he was advised to read it before retiring for the evening. Ichigo did not show his surprise, and made his way back to give his father his final respects before leaving the increasingly drunken crowd to their increasingly disgusting behavior. The exit of the man of the hour caused not a ripple in the ocean of decadence.

He stopped in one of the small sitting rooms, just far enough away from the Grand Hall to mute the noise to a dull roar. Chad stretched and relaxed against the door. Renji flopped into an overstuffed chair with a groan. Ichigo handed his sword to Chad, then settled on a couch, eyeing the envelope.

"Open it already, I have to know what the slick perv has planned for you."

With a lopsided grin at his friend, he slid out and unfolded the sheets of paper, deftly catching the silver keys that fell from the center. His fingers idly played with the two pieces of flat metal while he read, his eyebrows rising higher and higher. He dropped the keys on the floor, forgotten, as he moved the front page to the back, gripping the papers in both hands and leaning forward.

"What? What the hell is it?"

Renji would never believe it. He didn't believe it. What nerve the man had! As he continued to read, he had to admit he was intrigued. This kind of gift from that kind of man, it had to be something . . . _someone_ truly extraordinary. At best, this gift could be the most entertaining turn of events imaginable. And at worst, he could set the poor thing free with a bundle of coins.

The second page was advice. Advice! Well, if he was going to go through with this, he supposed he should pay attention. It wouldn't do to ruin the first impression. He blocked out Renji's demands for information and focused.

The third through fifth pages were documentation. Identification papers, bill of sale. Male, good lord, 15 years old, from a kingdom a safe distance away to avoid any complications. Hitsugaya Toshiro, an auspicious name. The final document a statement from the seller, attesting that the boy was a legitimate son of slaves, the pedigree was included, and assuring in good faith that the boy was pure. Ichigo looked up at Renji, his jaw open and eyes wide.

"You are not fucking gonna believe this."


	6. 6 - Unwrapping a Gift

.

 **Chapter 6**

 **Unwrapping a Gift**

Almost every suite of rooms in the palace had secrets that were not well-hidden, and others that were. The prince's chambers took an entire floor of one wing, and had multiple bedrooms - his own, one for a wife with two more connected for her servants, two for his servants, and one for a mistress with a single servant bedroom. These had their own official entrances, but were also connected to the prince's bedroom or sitting room through discreet doors and dark paths between walls. Across the hallway were more suites, empty room for more servants or mistresses. Chad used one of the attached servant rooms. All the rest were unoccupied, or they had been until now.

The three men stood in the hallway, having dismissed the guard Gin had left at the door. How the man got a key to this room was a question Ichigo would answer soon. The gift would likely be a spy for Gin, which could provide some entertainment quite apart from the more obviously intended diversions. He was on decent terms with his father's favorite, but Gin had spies everywhere, especially among his father's and other nobles' mistresses. It only made sense that the prince's own mistress would be a spy. What was a male mistress? A paramour, lover maybe?

The prince took his time thinking and then slowly moving toward the door, partly to draw out the excitement for himself, partly to torment Renji. He hadn't told Renji that the gift was a male, so further entertainment was in store. Not that Renji had never tried out the same sex, but he turned out to be as straight as an arrow and would be expecting a woman even though he knew his prince did not limit himself to half of the available options. His friend was dancing foot to foot in frustrated eagerness, unaware that he looked like a kid with a severe need to visit the restroom. When Ichigo paused with his hand on the door, Renji nearly lost his temper, face reddening as he growled at his prince.

"Quiet now," Ichigo said in an amused whisper, "the letter said that my present is asleep."

"Fucking drugged. We can be as loud as we want, now open the fucking door!"

With a chuckle, Ichigo swung open the door and stepped into the luxurious room intended for a lover. He walked quietly up to the end of the bed, Renji practically stepping on his heels, Chad closing the door and walking just behind the pair. The guard was prepared in case of deception, though Ichigo did not suspect a blatant assassination attempt. Ichimaru stood to gain much if this gift was well received, and had no reason to risk losing everything to kill a prince who was not his enemy.

Sliding the curtain aside before Renji had a stroke, all other thoughts screeched to a halt. He heard a grunt from the big, quiet man behind him, and a gasp from the redhead at his side. His own breath left him in a quiet sigh. Just as he had thought, the gift of a human slave from a man with Gin's skills and tastes must be a marvel.

A blanket of black velvet had been draped over the bed, the better to show off the jewel so light that the fabric barely rippled. The much smaller cloth of nearly transparent silver hid little from the eye, draped over the naked, sleeping form more to encourage the observer to remove the thin obstacle than to provide any privacy or protection. The pale skin was clearly visible, the small figure on its right side, arms loosely stretched out in front, right leg straight and left bent, curving the thin form. A face that was dreamed of and painted by every artist that presumed to know how an angel might appear was rested on a black pillow, a startling contrast to the pure white locks softly scattered on its midnight surface.

Fine silver chains snaked across the darkness and vanished under the misty cloth. Ichigo tilted his head, prying his eyes away from Heaven to observe sets of rings along the frame of the bed, up the corner posts, across the head and foot boards, even along the frame of the canopy. He smirked. Gin had been busy.

"Fuck! It's a man. That damned pervert."

Ichigo did not respond for a moment, letting his rash friend think about that statement. He did not need to look to know that Renji's face would be blushing, his eyes darting nervously to see if he had caused offense. Entertainment, it was one of the many reasons he kept Renji around.

"Renji, did you just imply that your prince is also a pervert? Or are you honestly going to clain that you aren't hard as steel looking at this?"

"You know I didn't mean it like that. It's just . . ."

Ichigo chuckled, letting Renji know he was off the hook.

His hand itched to reach forward and pull away the shining cloth, and he debated a moment.

"Chad, you may retire for the evening. Tomorrow, please personally arrange for and then oversee the changing of every lock in my suite, doors, chests, every last one. Do not use any smith who has worked in the palace or in any establishment run by Ichimaru Gin. And send word to your cousin. If she is interested, let her know how well my guards are paid. Her entire team is welcome."

He heard the guard move to leave immediately, propping Ichigo's sword by the door before letting himself out. The big man was probably relieved to escape. Ichigo had no idea what his sexual preferences were; Chad hardly ever spoke and never about himself. But few with a pulse could see this and not be tempted.

"Leave."

"Oh, come on, Ichigo! At least let me see."

"You've seen quite enough."

Renji heard the change, the menace in his tone.

"Fine, fine. It's your birthday, after all. Try not to have too much fun, you lucky bastard."

After Renji had left, he went to the door and turned the lock. At least he was certain Renji did not have a key. He returned to the bed, and gave his hand permission to do what it had been aching to do. The silvery cloth slithered off alabaster skin, glowing against the black depths. He shivered as his eyes roamed. They caught the imperfections, the faded bruising around the neck, the angry red swelling of a recent slave brand. If Gin had that done, he had made an unforgivable error, blemishing that lovely skin. And even if Ichigo wished his slave branded, he wondered why Gin would not assume Ichigo wished the honor of doing that himself.

He moved a chair to the bedside, pulling the curtains on the side open to gaze at the sleeping beauty while he thought. The gift was surely too fine to turn away, too rare to not accept as intended. Already his mind jumped from one fantasy to another. A lover? A pet? Something of both? Time would tell, he did not intend to force the boy to be something he was not willing to be, well, not much. Often people did not know their options, and could not make a decision true to their desires. If Gin was correct, this gift was miraculously untouched. He would likely reject every option unless shown what the possibilities were before allowed to decide.

Yes, then, he would accept this gift. He would enjoy this priceless gem to the fullest, teach the boy all the ways of pleasure. And if they were both fortunate, they would find common desires to explore. He tore his eyes away from the pale vision. Unless he wished to relieve himself using his own hand, he needed to focus his attention elsewhere for a time. He pulled Gin's letter out of his pocket, re-reading it in its entirety.

Gin had drugged the boy. He made quick note of the more practical details. No food for at least 12 hours, light food for 24 after that. Plenty of water. Aid walking, bathing, and relieving the call of nature. All of this was simple, though he would have to find a servant that would not be tempted into lust or too much sympathy to help when Ichigo could not be present.

In the letter, Gin explained that the gift was not trained to be a slave, rather his unusual appearance as a babe had caused his owner to have the slave raised protected and soft to one day fetch the highest price possible. Ichigo had seen the bill of sale, and though he knew Gin could spare the sum, it was still nothing to part with easily. The boy was educated, and intelligent, and proud. Thus, the drug. Though a slave with no right to refuse, he was not trained to be subservient and was not entirely willing.

That gave Ichigo a moment's hesitation. Rape was not to his taste, and beneath his station. However, Gin went on to note that the boy had spent some time in his manor, and shown both interest and masked eagerness. That was the key to why Gin had saved the gift for Ichigo instead of adding the boy to the ranks as intended. The whoremaster had seen potential, and Ichigo did not doubt the man's expertise. Gin's advice was to introduce the youth to pleasure while still under the influence of the drug, which would slowly begin to wear off in twenty-four hours and be out of his system in two days. By the time the boy was truly lucid, he would already have a taste of what consolation was available to a slave, without the bitterness of having his resistance overcome.

Clever snake. He knew Ichigo enjoyed pushing his partners as far into ecstasy as possible. The very thought of hooking this beauty on the bliss he could offer was enough to make him even more painfully aware of the erection he was trying to ignore. But Gin implied he should fuck the boy early, and that would be a mistake. That would be the way to go if he wished to break the boy entirely, but Ichigo could do better. He could bring this young man's lust to the surface, and wrap him completely in pleasure so deep that he would not even wish to escape, would fight to stay, beg to surrender. And if he did it just right, his slave would not break, would throw whatever strength and loyalty he had at Ichigo's feet.

The problem with a pet was that it could be won over by any hand that fed it. The problem with a slave was that it would submit to any who could subdue it. This boy could turn out to be either pet or slave, and Ichigo would lose nothing. But why not? He had a once in a lifetime opportunity. Why not try to take this raw diamond and carve it into something new, something so exquisite that even this incomparable splendor before him would be forgotten in comparison.

As he stood carefully and made his way to the adjoining bathroom, no longer able to deny his body, he smiled in delicious anticipation.


	7. 7 - Something New

.

 **Chapter 7**

 **Something New**

The prince used the narrow, private passage to return to his rooms. From what he had seen, he had some time before his gift would wake. He sat at his desk and made arrangements for the coming days. The boy would need caring for, and he had a perfect candidate in mind. He wrote out a request for the healer to see the boy tomorrow, and to bring her apprentice. The clothing Gin had sent with the boy would do for now, but the best tailors were booked in advance so he prepared requests for his two favorites. What else? Jeweler, not that the boy needed any adornment, but why not? Silver looked good on him.

He gave some thought to an adequate response to this gift. For now, a formal letter of thanks was expected, and he penned it personally while servants would handle the thank-yous for more standard presents. There was not much a prince had that didn't truly belong to the king, and Ichigo did not want to repay this with borrowed favor. Perhaps he could give Gin a gift in kind. Gin provided him with the finest merchandise of the type he specialized in. Ichigo had it within his power to provide a similarly rare service. He could kill with impunity, where Gin had to go to some lengths to discreetly eliminate rivals and enemies. So, a death in exchange for a life, and he knew exactly which head Gin would most like to see parted from its shoulders.

The night's business concluded, the prince went to get clean and prepare for bed. Scrubbing a towel through his hair, he stood dripping and thought his plan through one more time. This was new territory, and he was sure he would have to adjust as time went on. But he knew exactly how he wanted to start. Pulling on a pair of loose cotton pants and nothing else, he left his own room empty for the night.

Ichigo returned to the black covered bed and the delicate offering left to appease him. He considered removing the silver bracelets and anklets, connected to fine chains currently too loose to truly restrain the youth, not that they were necessary with a powerful drug in his system. No, certain expectations needed to be in place from the beginning; the restraints would stay. First and foremost, the boy must know the truth of his situation. They were also quite becoming, the prince decided, the pallor of the silver almost dark against the pale flesh.

The small keys unlocked both the cuffs and the chains apparently, so Ichigo removed the chains only. With one knee on the bed, he leaned forward and brushed his right hand slowly from defined jaw, up soft, rounded cheek, and back through hair like raw silk. Closer, Ichigo could see the faint tan on face and neck, just a hint of polished gold. As his hand moved away, the fair brow wrinkled slightly, pink lips shifted. So, the boy was not entirely comatose with whatever Gin had used to subdue the small body.

He scooped his hands underneath and lifted, rolling the boy into his chest as he stood. A faint mumbling was all that he heard as the bare skin settled against his own. Ichigo froze for a moment to feel that contact and to stare as the long black lashes fluttered, hinting at something truly astounding hidden from view. Careful of the tender skin on the otherwise smooth left shoulder, he moved the boy as gently as possible to the large chair, the light form easily curling onto the cushion.

Quickly he stripped off the velvet throw, tossing it into a corner, and turned back the cream comforter. The rich burgundy of the sheets would complement the boy's white just as well. And if his eyes were as remarkable as that one flutter of lashes led him to believe, he would have new bedding delivered to match, if any dyer had ever dreamed of such a color. Or perhaps they would be better offset against something neutral, a stormy gray, maybe. Well, he would simply have a color for every day of the week. When he gathered his gift in his arms again, there was another faint sound, another flutter of lashes and flash of brilliance. What was that, turquoise, teal, something else entirely? He would learn the correct name for it, so that he could praise it properly.

Shifted again to lie on his right side, the repeated movements seemed to wake the boy just the tiniest bit. The lean body stretched, eyelids and lips twitching, then settling again into quiet. Ichigo moved around the bed to re-secure the chains, leaving them with plenty of slack. Finally, he slid into bed behind his precious new treasure, and for several minutes simply held the boy, pressing his longer frame against the white back and draping his arm over the slender waist.

Could he believe Gin's paperwork, that the boy was 15, a man according to the law? He was short, thin. He did not seem malnourished, a strong layer of muscle even testified to more physical activity than a pampered bedslave was likely to have. Or perhaps physical conditioning had been part of his preparation. Any whore would tell you that strength and stamina were a good part of what separated the pretty waif who cost a copper and that professional who would not look your way without the sight of gold.

At 15, a boy became a man in Hueco Mundo. Some would survive in trades. Society needed bankers, brewers, farmers, though here many of those positions were filled with slaves taken in war. Most native-born sons, and many daughters, would spend at least part of their lives in the military or associated service. The lowest of families in Las Noches advertised how many of their children wore the emblem of their king. A pale slip of a boy, if not strangled in infancy, would have been cast out to live or die on the sands when it became apparent that he would not grow into a typical warrior. Unless he had a hidden talent recognized early enough to earn him a place as a dancer, painter or other artist, surviving to the age of majority was unlikely.

His gift was not from Hueco Mundo, but a kingdom far away, untouched by his own kingdom or the politics and morals of the savage desert. Perhaps there in Seireitei all were frail in comparison to his countrymen. Perhaps it was a land of peace and plenty, where the young could be sheltered from the harsh sun and grow in any way they pleased. He smiled softly, imaging a land of trees and flowing rivers, where beautiful men and women watched over delicate teenagers with no concern but what color of roses to tuck into their fair hair.

The face bronzed by the desert sun ducked down into that fairest hair, breathing in the sweet scent of flowers, the subtle tones of vanilla underneath. With a soft sigh, the lithe body moved lazily, pushing back closer to the warmth. A large hand trailed up a white arm, long fingers spreading to experience as much of the cool, soft skin as possible. A much smaller hand shifted, fine bones stretching open, then curling again. One long, muscular leg bent and moved forward, the soft fabric resting over one shorter, silvery leg.

"Sweet boy, can you hear me?"

A wordless murmur, another soft sigh as the large hand skimmed down easily visible ribs. Muscles jerked in reaction as slick, manicured nails were trailed back up from the bottom rib to return to the shoulder. Just as slowly, down went the hand once more, lower still to the soft, unguarded span between rib and hip, where it lingered, fingers reaching forward to pet circles on the twitching skin of an alabaster stomach. Around a shallow navel, up to the base of the breastbone, large palm curving with the delicate ribcage.

"Nnnnn . . ."

"Yes, darling pet, can you feel me?"

More firmly this time, the muscles of the palm and fingers pushing and relaxing to fit as they curved up the sharp hipbone, gripping gently, feeling sensitive skin warm and slide as narrow hips shifted. Over the slight curve and down the rounded thigh, turning to pet back upward. A slightly rushed intake of breath, white arms drawn closer. Brown eyes watching closely as black lashes teased again, then fully revealed their secret.

"Lovely, sweetheart, so lovely."

"Whaaa . . . what . . ."

The roaming hand caressed down the thigh one more time, then returned to rest a moment where it fit perfectly along hard bone and yielding softness. A quickening of two sets of lungs, and long fingers pulled the hip, tilting the pelvis, as the long leg hooked and straightened the bent leg. Thin lips smiled as the boy was laid back against broader hips, exposed now and unaware how tantalizing a view he offered.

A delicate frame in comparison to the larger, yes. Smooth and silky, with only a few scars, barely detectable white lines on skin nearly as pale, yes. But feminine he was not. The lines of him were masculine, not rounded and padded, with the previously noted muscles tensed now trying feebly to move the weakened body back into a semi-protected curve. Fine white pubic hair lent weight to the claim that the boy was older than he may appear. Only slightly starting to respond, the small penis was, like the rest of him, only small in comparison. It suited the boy's stature perfectly, beginning to flush pink and perfect and perhaps even a bit longer than expected.

Brown eyes closed briefly, a recollection of the steps in the plan helped to regain control when faced with such sinful temptation. Glazed eyes blinked repeatedly, as if trying to focus, trying to wake. A white crowned head raised slightly and shook slowly, as if trying to clear its mind, trying to see and understand. But as that warm and gentle hand moved, fingers leading the way forward and down, the glassy eyes closed and the tensed neck relaxed.

"Nnnaaaah . . ."

"Mmm, that's it, my pet. Just let yourself feel. Shall I teach you something new?"

ooooooooooOOOOOOOOOOoooooooooo

Disconnected moments flitted by, and Toshiro let them pass. He felt warm and relaxed, there was no reason to allow this to end, so every time his consciousness raised he pushed it back down again. Just stay, someone would wake him if it is very important. He must be free to sleep in, since he had seen light but no one insisted he leave his bed. When the sensation of movement broke through, he grumbled at the dream to leave him be. When he was disturbed by movement more than once, he shifted to find more warmth to fall into and leave the world behind.

A strange dream, distant yet tactile, as if the dream had no direction but simply wrapped around him. Something in his mind stirred in alarm, though there was nothing he could identify as frightening. Nagging warnings, unspecified fears interrupted the pleasant pressure stroking his side, petting his hip. A voice, it said sweet, it said darling. Toshiro began to push against the dream. Such words were no comfort, whispered only by those who wished to bring him harm.

He tried to ask what was happening, and his alarm grew as he struggled to make his vocal chords and mouth obey orders. Now he was the dream, out of reach of his own body and the nebulous fog that slowed his mind. No one had hurt him, he could feel no new pain. In fact, he was warm, and he felt safe, and there were little tingling sensations around his body, particularly in his midsection, that he did not object to at all.

Oddly at war with himself, unable to decide if this was dream or reality, he tried to focus his eyes, to retrieve more information. His eyes felt hot, and the images they delivered were as insubstantial at first as the rest of this distorted state of awareness. He did not recognize the light, the colors, none of it.

Toshiro had not been a healthy child. Born premature to a mother who had become more and more frail as she carried him, he had only a month with her before her death. The small baby struggled to grow into a small child, prone to fevers. One such had nearly killed him at age 8, not long after the death of his father. He remembered that feeling, drifting and trying to decide whether this was all, whether there was anything else that reality had ever been except that hot, hazy dreamland of random sensations. He remembered trying to fight back to wakefulness, but then being unable to recall why he bothered. This was the same. It felt like dying, but also like he was on the edge of waking.

Suddenly, diffuse sensations merged into one. He shut his eyes to focus on this alone, this abrupt rush of warmth and pressure. The side of him enjoying this dream won the upper hand, pushing the warnings aside to curl his attention around the source of the growing, pleasant discomfort.

His own voice called his mind back from the distracting sensations, uttering a sound he had only heard alone in the darkness. Eyes clearer, momentarily he could think, he could see, and he could regret not staying under the thick blanket of oblivion.

The first thing he saw was his own nakedness.

The first thing he heard was a quiet, clear voice so close it was almost within his own mind.

"Mmm, that's it, my pet. Just let yourself feel. Shall I teach you something new?"

He tried to move, something was holding him. But it wasn't a tight hold, not a threatening grip, it was warm and caressing. It was not that he was prevented from moving away, his body simply would not obey. His arms did move, slowly, in response to his fright, dragging light chains behind them. That did not even add to his alarm. Chains he expected; chains he was used to.

Down he reached, to where the beautiful, desirable . . . no, the invasive and unwelcome sensations were taking what little will he had away. Oh god, his hands met flesh that was not his own. His head bent and eyes struggled to focus, to see a tanned arm along his side, angled down to the wrist his hand had found, a large hand working slowly between his legs.

"No," his voice was so faint, breathy, even to his ears it sounded more inviting than foreboding. "No, stop."

Gripping the wrist, he tried to push the hand away. Didn't he? Or did he hold it in place? He heard himself sigh and watched the hand slide lower, feeling and lighting on fire areas he rarely touched, only to clean and when required for relieving the inevitable results of teenage hormones. Why were his legs parted that way? Why would they not close when commanded?

"Why stop, my pet? Why not just let me teach you something new, something wonderful and all for you? Come along with me, my darling."

Why stop? Because he did not want this, he did not agree to this, he did not know who this was. No, he knew. His mind was not helping, but he understood enough to know who that fondling hand belonged to, who that purring voice belonged to. And new warnings came to pull at his strained ability to reason.

' _Do try to please him_ ,' a sinister voice threatened. ' _If you fail you will find yourself back in my hands. And I will not be pleased_.'

' _The ones who cannot find a path forward always fall into worse suffering,_ ' a much kinder voice mourned, ' _and not one of them ever broke free or achieved any type of justice_.'

It was time, his dream told him. Time to take a step toward the future he had decided was his only logical option. Time to surrender his will to another, and possibly lose himself forever. Or time to show defiance and possibly lose his life.

A gasp escaped him as that hand moved back up, squeezing and releasing. When a thumb rubbed across the tip of his now firm erection, he could have stopped the moan brought on by intense pleasure. He made a deliberate decision, and let the sinful noise slip out. His reward, a circling of that thumb, a stroke downward, the top finger and thumb tightening to pull the foreskin down with them. He bit down on his lip as he watched the erotic sight, air pushing between his teeth in reaction to the growing tension. Then his eyes widened as, impossibly, that hand opened and moved away. His fingers grasped at the wrist, trying to dig in but still his body was sluggish, ignoring his will.

"No!" he commanded, even his voice resisting use, but better off than the rest of him.

"Now what, pet? You wanted me to stop. Have you changed your mind?"

"Y-yes," he would have squirmed in discomfort, but his hips barely moved. Another gasp at what he felt. His head turned, eyes focused and confirmed the truth. He was tilted, naked, half lying on top of the larger man. And that slight movement of his hips pushed his bare ass against fabric barely separating his skin from a hot, hard erection against his backside.

"You wish me to continue, darling?" The hand started to move back down and he stopped caring. He was a whore, there was no question how this would end. But he could have that pleasure again, could let that hand build and break the tension dominating his body and mind. This, at least, he could have.

"Yes," he breathed, relaxing as it seemed he would get what he wanted. The hand closed over his length once more, but did not move.

"Ask your master, my darling. Tell your master, do you want to feel ecstasy?"

No! His last remnant of pride rebelled. He hissed through his teeth, mind racing. No, he would not be used this way. He would not let another man be his master!

 _Oh, Toshiro, that is already done. You are chained, you are branded. If you want any pride to remain, you must please him and thrive. Fall farther, fall as far as you must to find a handhold, and then claw your way back up._

"Yes! Please . . . yes, master!"


	8. 8 - The Farther You Fall

**A/N** \- I confess, I'm not as attached to this story as my others, so it won't be updated at my usual pace of every 3-4 days. We'll see, I think it will be more entertaining for me to write once I get into more of an actual plot outside of the bedroom and start throwing more relationships into the mix.

Anyway, back to the bedroom . . .

* * *

 **Chapter 8**

 **The Farther You Fall**

"Yes! Please . . . yes, master!"

Ichigo closed his eyes in bliss, his hand flexing to immediately reward such good behavior. He was not disappointed; the boy had tried to fight it. Gin had loaded the boy with drugs, which the letter told him would make his gift weak physically and mentally, sensitive and susceptible to manipulation, pleasure, and pain. To resist at all had to have taken monumental effort, and showed evidence of spirit and pride.

Focusing all his attention on his new lover, he did not need to try hard to win more moans, sighs, and his favorite, whines through clenched teeth as the boy tried and failed to keep some decorum and dignity. He would learn. He would soon come to understand that panting and crying did not cheapen him, that screaming and begging would only increase his power. Or he would resist that knowledge and become something else, a beautiful bauble to enjoy at night and leave during the day.

Innocent and untouched, or so close to it that it did not matter. Gin had not lied. He was also right that the boy had potential. Drugs only achieve so much, aphrodisiacs can force pleasure but not true surrender. There was desire, but also intellect in this youth. Ichigo had seen it, a struggle to resist, a decision reached, and a choice to fall. That musical voice had gone from frightened and conflicted pleading, to a sudden confident demand. And now barely responsive muscles were pushed, forced by the boy to allow him to express his need, participate in gaining his pleasure.

Oh, it was delightful! The weak squirming against him, which he was sure would be violent shuddering and writhing if he were fully able. The feeble clutching at his wrist, which he knew would be clawing and forcing the hand to move as he wished. His own cock throbbed with want as a virgin ass rubbed against its length, but that sweet reward was days away. Tonight, only this. More than once, certainly, but only his hand would indulge tonight, and his eyes, and his mind.

Slick and hot now, his hand constantly changed rhythm and pressure, dragging this out. His palm rubbed circles against the swollen head, more droplets adding to the slipperiness of the palm that spread wetness along the heated length. Two fingers pressed and caressed the tight scrotum, his large hand more than enough to provide this pleasure without relinquishing the boy's hard shaft. Despite the drug, the boy was managing a few shallow thrusts as he became lost in lust. The voice grew louder, clearer in want.

"Hah . . . oh, god, ohgod . . . Oh, oh please . . . "

He would not make the boy beg more for release. Not tonight. His young gift had achieved quite enough. Allowing a fast, steady rhythm for the first time, he flexed with the boy, helping his unresponsive muscles. His aching cock reveled in the friction, and he knew that the feel of him, hot and damp against the boy's backside, would become part of this experience. The boy would begin to crave the feeling as he craved release, and inevitably torture himself with the possibility, the desire to be thoroughly fucked instead of teased this way. And Ichigo would build on that desire, little by little, until the boy was beyond ready and willing.

"That's it, my pet, my lovely pet," he cooed as the boy shuddered and gave a strangled moan. "You can do this, darling, let it go."

His hand was too tight to allow release even as he purred in the boy's ear. When the shudder became desperate attempts at thrusts, he softened his hold.

"Now, cum for me."

With a beautiful and oddly soft cry, the boy's muscles fought through his orgasm, intense and drawn out. Warm semen on his hand, on the boy's white arms still stretched down to hold his wrist, decorating the dark sheets, oh, such an intolerably erotic sight. Ichigo's right hand stayed where it was, warmly cradling the tired and softening flesh. He lifted his upper body, dragging his left arm out from under the trembling form. Gently, he stroked the white hair as the boy quivered and let out delicious whimpering pants of breath. He moved, turning the boy's head to look at him fully for the first time.

The stunning eyes were glazed with both the drug in his system and the euphoria Ichigo had given. They focused a little, studying his face and then locking onto his wide, pleased smile. He leaned closer, kissing the sweaty forehead as his hand continued petting.

"Good boy," he kissed the baby soft cheek. "You did so well, my pet." He kissed the slightly upturned nose. "So very well, so sweet."

He lifted his head, smiling down at confused eyes as they blinked tiredly.

"Rest now, Toshiro. I'm here to watch over you."

Only now slowly releasing the spent cock, his hand moved and the small hands still holding his wrist fell away. His leg relaxed to let the boy slide back into his previous pose of rest, ignoring the mess and the sweat. His pet would not be embarrassed by these things, no, he would teach the boy to revel in any evidence of life and its pleasures. He pulled up the top sheet and relaxed, his hand teasing free more of the floral vanilla scent from his gift's hair to mingle with the musk and warmth.

His own painful erection was ignored. All that mattered was the experience the boy was now reliving, the pleasure with none of the anticipated pain, the care and tenderness with perhaps only a little of the expected fear. It was all about the boy, everything done, said, and thought all about creating the perfect first step in their journey together.

With a deep sigh, the tired eyes finally closed. He knew the boy had made a conscious decision to stop thinking, stop trying to understand what had happened and what might come next. Exactly as he should.

ooooooooooOOOOOOOOOOoooooooooo

It was unexpected, though Yumichika had told him that the prince was handsome. The pretty boy has said nothing about that smile, and Toshiro stared at it through a haze of pleasure, confusion, and fading fear. A vicious, evil dictator surely could not smile like that. He had been told stories, how the prince made his chosen whores delirious, and only hurt the ones who sought such. Still, he was shocked. If the man was going to be gentle, why was he drugged and chained?

He tried to find some answer, but only grew more confused as the man stroked him, kissed him chastely, and praised him. Praised him! For ejaculating all over his hand and his bed, for calling him master and writhing against him like a whore. If his damned, traitorous body would just listen, he would go find a rock to crawl under and die of shame. Then this man who owned him and could do anything he wished, hurt him, kill him, starve him, turn him into a shade of himself, this man said his name kindly, respectfully and all the confusion returned.

It had felt so fine, so amazing. It was not only the drugged tea that had knocked him out and left him weak, he would not fall back on that crutch. Once he had stopped struggling, there was nothing left but wave after wave of bliss that yes, he begged for. He would do that willingly again, and again, and again. But that would not be all he was asked to do, just lie there and be serviced by a hand. One hand alone had done that to him, took his surrender and left him a panting mess. Good god, what could the man do with two hands?

So tired, and a hand still stroked through his hair. That, too, felt good. Soothing. He closed his eyes. None of this worry was accomplishing or changing anything. He would worry when he could think clearly, when he was not high on some kind of sedative and his own endorphins. He was being offered sleep in safety, and he took it.

ooooooooooOOOOOOOOOOoooooooooo

When he woke to find his precious gift struggling in the throes of a nightmare, he whispered soothing words and stroked his hair until he calmed. When he woke to the boy moving sleepily, trying to leave the bed, he asked and received embarrassed, quiet confirmation. He removed the chains and carried the boy into the bathroom, supporting the disoriented body and mildly chastising his pet for showing any shame before his master. The fascinating eyes watched him as he locked the chains. He settled back under the covers, and pulled the slight frame to rest against his side. And when he woke to the predawn light he stroked his pet into hazy wakefulness just like before.

This time the boy did not resist at all, letting Ichigo tease him slowly, then bring him to sudden climax. Ichigo did not make him plead or call him master, but the boy begged anyway, sliding so seductively against his crotch and moaning much more loudly than before. He could not be more pleased. Even if this beautiful young man did not live up to his hopes, he would still make one hell of a bed partner. So willing after only one session, giving himself over to pleasure with an open abandon.

As he praised and cuddled his treasure, the boy gave a sigh and relaxed against him, the gesture almost content, almost trusting, though he knew it was too early for that to be the truth. He reached for the glass by the bed, held it to those parted lips, held the warm, sweat-slicked back against his chest as he drank. The drug was still in effect, the beautiful eyes clouded and glassy, the lean muscles weak and slow to respond.

Ichigo slid out from underneath that delicious body, once again ignoring the throbbing erection protesting this merciless neglect. The boy blinked bleary eyes at him and curled onto his side. Ichigo left to prepare a bath and returned to find the tired youth sleeping quietly. He removed the bracelets and anklets, scooped up the light body, and settled him in the chair while he was still oblivious.

The prince changed the sheets, piling the dirtied cloth by the door, left his own clothing in the pile, then gathered up the dozing boy and took him to the bath. Weary eyes opened as he stepped into the wide tub. There was a moment of startlement when the warm water touched pale skin.

"Just a bath, sweetheart. Relax and let me take care of you."

Confusion returned, but the tensed muscles relaxed as Ichigo settled and guided the boy to sit on top of his legs. There was a little resistance as he pulled the boy to lean back against his chest. Once his gift was quiet and still, he reached for the soft cloth and soap, started with the swan neck and fine collarbones, slowly circling the cloth with one hand, the other hand following to rub away soapy residue.

ooooooooooOOOOOOOOOOoooooooooo

Toshiro became increasingly aware of the movement of muscle against his back as the man washed him, even more sensitive to that warmth than the hands moving slowly down his chest. That same hard length was pressed against his backside, no cloth between their skin now, only water. He resisted the urge to fidget and move, knowing he would only end up pushing against the man's erection.

It was too difficult to think. Was he going to be kept drugged forever? At present, he wasn't sure he objected. The hot water, the solid, rippling muscles behind him, the slick hand in front of him, and the unbelievable bliss he had been given were enough. The lazy, tangled mess of his thoughts and the lethargy of his body only made it worse, or made it so much better.

He let his head fall back on a broad shoulder and shuddered as hand and cloth rubbed against his chest. He swallowed hard and closed his eyes. Thirsty, and he was so very hungry. The pain in his shoulder had faded to a dull ache, but stung now with the water and the contact with the man's skin. Then, he didn't care as fingers paused to pinch lightly, caress and move steadily on to wash his stomach. Was every single thing so unbearably erotic before? Every touch and every word had pushed and torn at his control for how long now? Already he was becoming aroused, waiting for those hands to reach just a little lower.

None of it mattered. He had a role to play, and failure to perform well would mean this life would be all he ever knew until the day he was sent wherever all discarded whores go to die. If he could just think, just pull himself together enough to make a single move for his own benefit. But it was so difficult, and those hands now massaged and cleaned his thighs. He grunted as the man lifted and turned his body, then he realized he was now stretched with his front pressed against that broad chest, his legs between long, parted legs, his cock pressed against . . .

His hands tried to push against the man's ribs as panic took hold. He wanted to move his body back, to get his legs to support under him. But one cloth and one bare hand ran up the backs of his legs, pressing his buttocks up, pushing his arousal against the larger length beneath him.

Unable to escape, he ducked his head against the man's shoulder, hiding the heat in his face and biting back a startled yelp. The noise that escaped was twice as embarrassing, a high-pitched squeak he didn't think he could make if he tried. He felt that handsome face bend closer, felt breath against his hair as his eyes squeezed shut.

"No, sweet pet, don't be shy now. There are so many more pleasures than you have known. Shall I teach you something new?"

As the man's hips pushed up against him, and the hands held him gently in place, he groaned. It was different than just a hand on him. Perhaps it was just the knowledge of what exactly was rubbing along his cock that made the sensation more intense, more sensual. His cheek pressed down, dragging his soft skin over collarbone, pink lips nearly touching the lapping water. The firm length slid down against his own in such a similar motion and he waited a breathless moment for it to happen again. And it did happen again, more firmly, the hips pushing him a little higher, pushing that bold erection along his, then along his stomach. And dear god, it was wonderful! From these few movements, his nerves were already on fire.

Why resist this? For pride, for vanity, for fear. If he wanted to increase his value, this was a chance. And the only cost would be allowing more mind-numbing pleasure. He concentrated and made his arms move, forced his hands higher to strong shoulders, where his fingers weakly tried to clutch and provide leverage to move his body. Not away, oh no, but to move with the man, to push against the larger body.

So soon his breath came in harsh pants against the warm, wet skin as he struggled to rub along that thrusting cock, hardly knowing what he was doing but pulling to try to find some way to increase the pressure and friction driving him mad.

"That's it, sweetheart. Oh, so very good."

The bare hand kneaded against his flesh, holding him up. The hand with the cloth slid up to the small of his back, pressing him closer, and he nearly screamed in delight as the hips pushed in short, sharp jolts. He heard and felt the man breathing heavily, heard and felt the heart beneath his ear thundering. He gave up trying to have any control over their actions, his own panting louder and mixed with 'Oh's and 'Ah's and sudden cries that he didn't try to stop when the movement became faster and even more insistent.

Familiar enough now with what was to come, he knew the nearly painful tension was going to break soon, and he turned his face again, kissing and licking the damp skin that supported him. He just had to taste it, and was not disappointed with the scent of clove, the warm, clean water and hint of salt. Between moans he pressed his lips and tongue closer, nuzzling as the body beneath him jerked. His final cries were muffled against warm satin and almost immediately he fell from ecstasy into exhaustion, back into that dreamlike haze thick and warm as the water.

ooooooooooOOOOOOOOOOoooooooooo

He stared down in amazement, still trying to catch his breath. That had not been part of the plan, he had not intended to move on so quickly. Holding back his own desire had been far more difficult than he had expected. But this boy was more than ready for what just happened. He smiled as he reached for the drain. The bath would have to start all over again, not that he minded.

When those small hands had clutched at him and it became obvious that the boy was making an honest but futile effort to match him, he had been delighted. When those sweet lips came into play, he was ecstatic. He had not even kissed his gift yet, not a real kiss, he did not count the little pecks on his face. And now, barely eight hours after the first touch, the boy was licking his chest while flexing against his cock.

The boy, no, Toshiro was still breathing quickly as he lay full length on top of his happily sated body. He started the water again, pushing the drain cover back into place, and relaxed, stroking Toshiro's back as warm water rose slowly to soothe shivering skin. This time he would just clean the boy, return him to his fresh bed, and get on with the day's business. As much as he would like to, he could not stay all day.

The white head stirred, and the fingers still tight on his shoulders finally relaxed, hands sliding down. Toshiro pushed feebly, and Ichigo moved to turn him again, letting him sit in his lap once more. The boy immediately relaxed back against him, again showing a surprising amount of trust. Jewel eyes blinked, and the pale chest rose with a deep breath.

Toshiro spoke slowly, carefully. It took a great deal of effort to form clear words and keep them straight to make an entire sentence. He would not waste the words, the first words not torn from him in moments of fear or ecstasy, the first impression beyond his use as a sexual object.

"Master, what is your name?"

Ichigo chuckled in surprise. Did the boy not know? Was that even possible?

"As of yesterday, Aizen Ichigo. Did you not know this?"

"I was told . . . I was to be given . . . not a name."

That was exhausting, and Toshiro sighed as he closed his eyes. The first move for his own benefit was showing that he was more than an unwilling body to be used and set aside. The second move was to set an idea in this man's mind. Toshiro knew nobility. The more powerful you are, the more you are seen as an object, a means to power, security, and wealth. Toshiro had dealt with some of this from those who sought favors; how much more would a prince in an absolute monarchy face? Every person would want to influence this prince, would do things for him with insincere and sinister motives.

His master's identity did not matter; if the man was lowborn and poor, he was still a slave and had to do as told to keep his life. But if at the very least he could convince this man that he did not bend to his will simply out of fear of his power, or desire to use the prince for his own ends, that would be the greatest worth he could gain. To be not just an object, untrusted and valued only for sexual gratification, and to show his owner that he did not see the man as an object, catered to and valued as only a crown and a sword, that was a goal worth effort to attain. And while he lied, there was a seed of truth. Gin had not told him his master's name.

"Hmm. Sleep now, Toshiro. We will talk soon."

The water was over their thighs now. Ichigo started cleaning his treasure more purposefully as the boy went limp in his arms.


	9. 9 - The Morning After

.

 **Chapter 9**

 **The Morning After**

The normally bustling halls were eerily silent, a pleasant change. He did not turn toward the main hall as he normally would. No doubt the place would still be a mess, with dozens of nobles passed out from the previous night's revelry. It would only be the lesser nobility, those without estates nearby and servants reliable enough to see them home, and those without the right to claim guest quarters at the palace for the night. The riff-raff, in other words. Ichigo could smell the unpleasant aftermath of his own birthday celebration wafting down the wide corridor. Stale food, smoke, vomit, piss, overwhelming fumes of spilled liquor, and the faint undertone of blood. He wondered idly if any of the revelers would not wake this morning. Foolish to stay and allow indulgences that make you vulnerable; if any died they would not be missed.

Heading for the smaller, private dining area, he kept himself alert. Though he doubted anyone would expect him to be awake at all before noon, this was the last chance for a desperate assassin. If successful, they could claim it happened last night, when he was still Kurosaki Ichigo, still vulnerable. Once he was witnessed alive and well by several people, it would be too late. He was now the heir, an Aizen, and hunting season for his royal hide was over. A murder attempt would now bring down the wrath of the king and the kingdom on any killer and their house.

That didn't make him safe, there would always be plots and those who thought they could kill him without being identified. But the possible repercussions made the risks far too great for most. At the very least, the sloppy, out-in-the-open attempts would cease. With the danger diminished, it was time to truly begin his life.

He was careful to not let the faint smile drop from his lips as he opened the door to the cozy room. It was just as well that his father was sitting there with Ichimaru Gin. He would have needed to seek the king out after his meal, anyway. No better witness could be possible, and it was now official that Ichigo had survived.

The informal setting and his new rank meant that his bow was much shallower than the one he received from Ichimaru. At a gesture from the king, they both sat, Chad stepping aside near the two guards already present. Ichigo immediately reached to fill the empty plate a servant set before him. He knew the casual air he presented was part of what originally made his father notice him, as long as it was behind closed doors. In public, the favorite son was as formal and respectful as any father could wish. Maintaining those two distinct personas flawlessly for years proved his intelligence and grasp of politics.

"Congratulations are in order, my son."

He grinned. Affection was not part of their relationship, but pride definitely was. The king, of course, showed no humility to anyone. The prince stopped being self-effacing five years ago, and bowed only to his father now. He was vain of his accomplishments, and being called 'son' by the king for the first time was a feat no other was likely to achieve, unless a few of the youngest royal bastards showed more intelligence than their elders. And while he had thought of the king as his father, he had never been permitted to say such aloud, not until today.

"My thanks, father. I'm glad that I have been able to live up to your expectations so far."

Arrogance and subservience at the same time. It was a fine line he was used to walking, but he never allowed himself to become too comfortable with their interactions, never allowed unconsidered words to pass his lips. The more at ease one feels, the more likely one is to make a truly stupid mistake. Ichigo had seen more than one sibling fall into that trap, letting themselves relax in the belief that they had the king's favor and then overstepping the very clear boundary of power.

"We were just discussing the only formal obligation for today, the ambassadorial dinner has been changed to a luncheon. That way they can be expected to leave tonight. I had been prepared to allow your absence, but as you are more energetic than expected, you will attend at noon, the small hall as the great hall will take some time to be made presentable."

"I knew I should have stayed in bed. But I'll confess I was rather anxious to make my presence known this morning."

That earned a quiet chuckle. The king had been through the same trial, five years between being declared the presumptive heir and being officially accepted. Five years of outwitting, outrunning, outfighting, all the while maintaining the image of a royal. Ichigo knew the odds. He knew that no one had expected him to survive. And that made the end game ever so much more satisfying.

"I understand most of your gifts were found acceptable."

"Some a great deal more acceptable than others."

He flashed a quick look at Gin, with no expression to meet the usual wide grin. A personal, but stiff thank you letter, an ambivalent acknowledgment now that did not clearly state if his gift was being praised or condemned. No need to make the king's favorite too confident. The man stayed silent, as was proper during a conversation between King and Heir.

"Father, I meant to ask you to look over the horses to see if there are any fit for the royal stable. I'll send the rest to army, unless there is a good racer or two."

It was just the right tone, Ichigo knew. He didn't offer the king anything in a manner that would suggest that he had it in his power to give anything. And yet he declared ownership enough to give the leftovers to the army. Such was the position of a prince, trying to build up the appearance of power while caught firmly underneath a far greater authority.

"I regret that my day is already spoken for. Tomorrow morning, at this time, we'll go to see to it together. I must cut our visit short, my son. Unless you would care to take over judicial duties this morning?"

The teasing tone gave Ichigo permission for a derisive snort. Then he stood and gave his father a formal bow, a nod of acknowledgment to Gin, and a quiet sigh of relief to have the room to himself.

"Sit. I know you haven't eaten, I woke you up too early."

The big guy looked confused, sitting at a table with his prince was rare, eating breakfast with him was unheard of. But in the end, Chad was too obedient, and Ichigo grinned as the man sat stiff and uncomfortable on Ichigo's right, where he had a clear view of both doors. The guard once owed Ichigo his life, and had repaid the debt a dozen times over. It was past time to start rewarding the man for his loyalty. He motioned to the hovering servant to bring another set of dining ware.

"After breakfast, we'll be heading to the barracks. Once we're done there, find Renji and tell him to meet me at 3 in my quarters. After that you can have the day to work on the tasks I gave you last night. Your cousin is top priority, or have you already sent her word?"

"I have, Your Royal Highness."

He glared at the guard. "None of that. 'Sir' is fine in public, but start that royal shit and your cousin will be your replacement."

A rare smile from the big man made an appearance and vanished a second later.

"A lot of things are going to be changing, Chad. I plan to have you in charge of my personal security, unless you wish to leave with generous compensation. Or if you want it, you can take command of my household guard now that I'll have a household. You can take some time to consider the options."

"No need, sir."

Sometimes the lack of verbiage could be frustrating, but Ichigo had been in nearly constant company with the guard for 7 years now. He was fairly certain what the big man would chose.

"You'll stay as my bodyguard, then?" A simple nod. "Good. You'll need to recruit at least one subordinate, preferably two to cover times when you aren't available. I'll leave that up to you, salary, quarters, whatever you need to recruit the ones you want. Your own salary is doubled and I expect you to take a private room in my wing."

That earned a grunt, but no comment. Chad wasn't in this for money or status, but he would now be considered quite wealthy. The prince was pleased and let himself relax as they settled into silence over breakfast. He had kept his life and his mind lean, indulging only a little in the many temptations that were laid at his feet. Between not wasting the budget of a prince on frivolities, and building his own small but growing network of business interests, Ichigo had enough wealth to make certain none of those around him would seek other means of income.

He had his royal title, he had treasure and time to spare. He had his first 'mistress' and would soon have a wife. What he really needed now was a war. No great wars to be had, a very lucrative raid would do. It had been peaceful for too long; the last raid he had ridden on was when he was only the favorite son. Blooding his sword as prince was necessary and long overdue.

With that goal in mind, he set out for the barracks after breakfast. He would discuss options with the commanders, as was only right and respectful. But he already had ideas of his own. And while he sounded out the generals, Chad would be seeking out much more valuable input from Halibel and Madarame. Both would be receiving their recognition soon enough. They knew to be patient, but he was not foolish enough to leave them waiting long.

ooooooooooOOOOOOOOOOoooooooooo

Polite knocking was ignored. A strong arm was resting over his chest. A softer breast was pressed against his ribs. Blankets had been tossed aside, and his eyes opened to the gratifying sight of a dark, familiar beauty draped partly over him, rounded ass and lean torso turning languidly as the noise woke them both. Black hair with a distinctly purple tint clashed horribly as it dragged across the bold, blood red hair spread over the arm she had used as a pillow.

His bed companion's movement was revealing the kind of curvy figure rarely to be found on renowned warriors. Renowned she was, powerful and deadly, but he had been horny and so had she. He hadn't expected to run into her last night, having heard she was far from Las Noches, but he was damned glad he had been in the right place at the right time. This wasn't their first discreet encounter, and it was simple relief and pleasure for both of them, with no strings attached. Luckily, her husband was a complete pervert and couldn't care less about her playing around.

The second set of solid knocks on the door compelled him to growl a demand for silence. His eyes stayed on the woman, appreciation for her beauty and enthusiasm in his gaze. Respect for her position clear by the stillness of his hands and lack of suggestive or crude comments. It was completely her call if she wanted to express affection this morning, which experience told him was very unlikely.

A few loud thumps on the door led to a much louder thump as he was suddenly kicked out of bed to land discarded on his own floor like rubbish.

"Fuck, woman! What was that for?"

"Answer the damned door, Renji, before I throw you through it."

Grumbling and rubbing his bruised ribs, he clambered up and strolled to the wardrobe. While he was picking through to find a robe to slip on, the thumping on the door was renewed. The she-devil jumped off the bed with a low growl. Before he could react, she had smacked his ass harshly and with long strides headed toward the sitting room and the offending noise, completely naked and apparently not giving a shit who might be on the other side of the door. He pulled on a robe quickly and scrambled to stop her.

"Oi! Don't just . . ." Too late.

The door was flung open, giving anyone in the hallway a perfect, full-frontal view as her fists settled on naked hips.

"WHAT?"

Her aggressive stance softened and her weight shifted casually to one side. Renji stood petrified, wide eyes fixed on the shameless goddess in the doorway.

"Oh, hey, cousin! C'mon in. Renji, make yourself useful and get some tea or juice or something. Or order it if that's what you posh palace dwellers do. Don't just stand there in the hallway, you big lump, get in here."

Renji's palm hit his forehead a little too hard as Yoruichi pulled a stunned and madly blushing Chad into his sitting room. He groaned and hit his head again when the guard was forced into a chair and the woman plopped down on the couch opposite, pulling up her legs to sit cross legged, still entirely nude and not hiding a thing as she lifted her arms to tie her hair in a knot. There was a time, he reflected as he turned to find a blanket or something to throw over her, when he was insanely jealous of her husband. Now he completely understood why the man was a lunatic, and why he didn't bat an eye at her taking lovers. One man couldn't possibly handle this woman. Give him a nice, meek and loyal woman. He'd even try to be loyal back if he could just have a peaceful household without getting kicked and berated like an errant puppy.

Speaking of scoldings, his kind act of draping a blanket over the very naked woman on his couch was rewarded with a sharp slap.

"You aren't even listening, are you, moron?"

"Sorry, I was a bit distracted by your fetish for public nudity."

Her grin, no, her sneer was full of menace and glee at the same time. He wondered what was wrong with him that he found such a sadistic expression sexy as hell.

"Sounds like you don't appreciate having a naked woman around. Maybe my cousin should strip for you, instead?"

Both men shuddered.

"You two are boring. I'll let Chad repeat the message; I've got better things to do."

And both men remained quiet while she stood up, letting the blanket spill to the floor. But at least she returned to the bedroom and pulled on her clothes as she walked out the door. Renji stared at the doorway and vowed to stick to whorehouses in the future, where you could have a good time and leave without any bruises you didn't ask for.

ooooooooooOOOOOOOOOOoooooooooo

It required a concentrated effort to open his eyes. If it were not for hunger, thirst, and most crucially a full bladder, he wouldn't have even bothered. He would have been more than happy to stay at the edge of sleep and the murky version of reality filled with memories not of home, but of the last what? Day, week, how long had he been here? He didn't think it had been long, but nothing he thought he knew was reliable. His mind only seemed to clear when he was frightened or otherwise . . . um . . . agitated. He tried to focus on what he needed, not on the events that kept replaying in his mind. It worried him that he was not more upset by recent events, being drugged and molested was not exactly a forgivable offense. But it worried him a good deal more that he woke looking for his tormentor, that he spent his valuable moment of clarity not wondering not how to get out, but wondering when _he_ would come back.

The heavy, embroidered drapes hanging from the bed canopy were closed except to his right where they were tied back. Staring steadily at the closed inner curtains of deep blue lace, he tried to focus on the room beyond them and wake up. When that didn't seem to help, he simply let his eyes drift and gather information in small snips of clarity for his mind to try to piece together. He was still chained, the long, loose lengths of silver running from both wrists to his right, not locking him down to both sides of the bed. He could get up, then.

Carefully, fearful that moving too quickly would bring on dizziness or nausea, he turned and sat up, propping himself on his right arm. Simply sitting for a while, trying again to focus, he gathered a little more energy. He could see now that he was no longer naked, dressed in a simple robe of cream colored, silken material. His left hand pulled at the thick comforter and the sheet underneath, bringing welcome cooling air that seemed to help clear his head just a little.

His bare feet were also chained, hopefully loosely enough for him to stand. After all that his broken memories told him of his shameful actions, it would still be mortifying if he had no option but to relieve his bladder on the floor or even on the bed. And he was certain his lack of muscle control would prevent him from saving himself from that particular indignity if he was left here much longer. With uncoordinated, sluggish movements he partly pushed, partly dragged himself to the edge of the bed. The chains on his feet were long enough, he was happy to find out, and at last he swung his legs over the side of the mattress, pushing himself upright at the edge.

He should have taken longer to reorient, should have pushed up more slowly. He grasped the sheer inner curtains of the bed as his feet fumbled, his legs not up to the task of holding still, wavering like a foal trying to stand for the first time. Weak muscles likely spared him a broken wrist, failing to move quickly enough to try to catch him as his body collapsed in an ungraceful heap on the floor, the torn curtain fluttering down to cover him like a shroud. A sharp discomfort in his left elbow was eclipsed by the agony in his left shoulder as it hit the thick rug.

Gritting his teeth against the howl of pain that wanted to escape, he rolled onto his side to get the tender flesh off the floor. Waiting for the numbness of whatever drug was in his system to reclaim part of his senses, his mind laughed hysterically at the entire situation. All he wanted in this wide world was to pee. A simple enough wish, one that had never given him any particular difficulty before, and yet now it seemed completely unattainable. And as the pain faded he did find himself laughing, lying on the floor, cradling his throbbing left arm, chuckling weakly at the ridiculous circumstances he found himself in. The one mercy was that no one was here to witness this.

At the sounds of a lock turning and a door opening, he craned his head briefly to see through the blue gauze two sets of shoes, two pairs of legs moving toward him. Witnesses had arrived right on cue to complete his misery. The chuckles turned into outright laughter, or as close to it as his lungs could manage when they constantly felt full of cotton. The world was just too cruel, too senseless to do anything but cry or laugh.


	10. 10 - The Healer

.

 **Chapter 10**

 **The Healer**

While she was generally inclined to respect, even like the young prince, this was not doing him any good in her eyes. Unohana Retsu was a healer, and perhaps people expected her to have compassion for everyone and a desire to alleviate suffering. The fact that she had no such motivations was a very well-hidden secret. Compassion she may not have, but a simple code of decency to living creatures that were not enemies, that she did have, and she clung to it as the last shred of humanity left to her after a life no one would envy.

She knew where she was, and that meant her patient was the prince's mistress. To walk in and find this small boy, what seemed to be a child, would have been bad enough. To see the youth lying on the bed with chains restraining hands and feet, well, she had enough experience of bedroom games and slavery to not find that too shocking, but again, this wasn't a mistress but a child.

The reality was even worse, and she froze as she took in the scene. The crumpled form on the floor, blood starting to soak slowly through one sleeve, tangled in chains and bedding . . . and he looked so frail and seemingly manic, curled in on himself and laughing as he clutched the bleeding arm.

The prince had moved immediately, pulling away the fallen curtain and kneeling to scoop up the injured child and place him on the bed. The boy's laughter cut off abruptly when the prince knelt, but he did not struggle or seem afraid of the man. Still, Unohana 'tsk'ed as she shook off the shock and strode forward. The child had beautiful eyes, and they were fixed on the prince who was moving the sleeve back on his arm. She shot the man a glare of disapproval and was gratified when he stood and backed off a step.

Interestingly, the boy's eyes remained on the prince until she touched his arm. Blinking slowly, he turned his face to her with a look of complete confusion. Then his eyes closed, and he groaned as his other hand slowly groped for the injured arm as if he was just remembering the pain. She reached to stop him, pulling back the sleeve to reveal only a cut and redness that would likely bruise, nothing serious enough to cause such a strong reaction.

"Be still now, child. I'm here to help you."

Retsu turned her head, looking for her forgotten assistant who stood timidly in the doorway. The youth rushed forward with her bag of supplies. Before she could retrieve antiseptic and bandaging materials, the poor child on the bed spoke one word, 'master,' in a faint voice, a look of concentration on his face like it was hard to form words. She felt familiar rage when she realized what all the signs were pointing toward, the dazed look, the difficulty moving, the hysterical laughter. Chained up and drugged! What had this child been through?

She had thought better of the prince. Similar scenarios she had seen, and much worse. But she had not expected to see it here, at the hands of this particular young man. The prince was a killer, like his father and almost every man, woman and child in Las Noches including herself. But she had judged him more honorable than most. Incorrectly, it seemed.

"Master . . . I need . . ."

The prince had stepped forward anxiously when the child spoke, but was apparently too worried to think clearly and see what the boy was asking for. Worried? Well, that was something, anyway.

"Highness, please remove the restraints so I can escort the child to the bathroom."

She spoke with just a hint of the disgust she felt, and he noticed. Retsu didn't care, the consequences of pissing off royalty or anyone else were not really a concern, or so she thought. The prince turned to look at her slowly, something dark and very sinister in his eyes that made her reconsider her nonchalance for just a moment. Then he was moving to remove the chains, leaving the silver bands in place. She moved her bag off the bed and started to reach for the boy, but halted when she saw the pale arms lifting, clearly reaching instead for the prince.

Without a word or another look in her direction, the prince lifted the small body and walked away, closing the bathroom door with his foot. Retsu thought while she waited. There was nothing she could really do to save the child from this, and really, she had seen much worse fates. But it did not sit well with her. It seemed rather absurd suddenly. If she had walked in to find a grown man or woman in the same situation, she would not have batted an eye. This was a brutal, merciless world, and she had long known that children were not exempt to its evils. She busied herself getting things ready to take care of that cut and examine the child, and she was ready when the door opened.

"Place him back on the bed, please, highness."

She looked up from her preparations to see the boy completely relaxed, his head on the prince's shoulder and hands lightly holding the front of the man's shirt. The child didn't want to let go when the prince set him down, but laid back quietly when a large hand was placed on his small shoulder, those big eyes never wavering from the man's face. There was room for doubt about the boy's treatment by the prince, she decided, and she would proceed with a little more self-restraint.

"You may wait in the hall, highness, until the exam is complete."

"What? No, I'll be staying here."

"Then I will take my leave, highness."

She began packing her bag, ignoring a startled squeak from her apprentice that told her she was receiving another threatening glare. Retsu was not deliberately seeking to antagonize the prince; she was not suicidal. But she did insist on respect for her skills, and when it came to her work she would not yield an ounce of her authority.

"Fine."

Entitled, dangerous, but somewhat reasonable, just as she had always thought. She started unpacking items again, but paused to look over her shoulder when she heard him speak. He was bent over the bed, hand on the boy's cheek and a smile that was the complete opposite of the displeased frown adorning his face a moment ago.

"Unohana is a healer, she won't do anything to hurt you. I'll be right outside the door, pet."

The prince straightened and gave her a flat stare before turning and walking out the door. It was clear the words were not just to comfort the boy, but to warn her. She would have scoffed if he hadn't intimidated her just a little. She was hardly the one the child needed protection from. The boy on the bed watched him go with an unfocused gaze and almost no readable expression other than that general air of disorientation. It seemed to take the child several seconds to even realize she had approached to examine him, and he flinched when she reached for him, moving him to sit up.

She motioned Hanataro to hold the boy where she positioned him, and then pushed off the robe to see what had caused the pained reaction to her handling his left arm. Retsu swallowed a sigh. The cruelty of humans knew no bounds. The brand was recent, the symbol of two chain links indicating a slave. If the child was born to his condition, the brand would have been given when he was a babe, long faded and small. It was likely the boy had recently been free, and she felt something close to sympathy as she began treating the wound on his elbow before tackling the more painful job of cleaning the brand.

Her tenderhearted assistant was close to tears as he held the boy still. Hanataro would make an average healer at best, good enough to help with day to day injuries and illnesses. It wasn't a lack of intelligence, but a lack of nerve that would hold him back. It had been her own weakness that landed him in the profession.

Hanataro had been the first babe she had delivered, and she had tended to his needs in infancy and childhood along with the rest of the village. At four years of age, he was small, timid, and prone to injuries due to absentminded clumsiness. Everyone in the village knew when his mother took him out into the dunes and left him to feed the wolves. The last of her hope that there was any good in any human died, and she left the village in the middle of the night.

It seemed to be fate. She could have ridden in any direction. He could have died long before she stumbled on him. He could have been crying, and she would have passed him by. When she spotted the boy, he was laughing and playing, throwing stones up to watch them roll down the moonlight-soaked dunes. And now here they both were, tending to a boy even smaller than Hanataro, less likely to survive in the desert than was a snowflake.

No, it wasn't sympathy invading her thoughts as she lifted her hand to clean the tortured skin of that thin, pale shoulder. It was pity.

ooooooooooOOOOOOOOOOoooooooooo

Life had become a series of humiliations, one following hard on the heels of another. Not for the first time, Toshiro was oddly thankful for the fog filling his mind and numbing his body. Healer or no, this woman was a stranger and he resisted, as much as he could which was not much at all. And the quiet but unnervingly attentive youth in the background did nothing to add to his sense of security as the woman brusquely sat him up and pushed the robe off to his waist. She called her assistant over, and he climbed right on the bed with Toshiro to hold him upright.

He flinched as the young man put his hands on him, and flinched harder when the woman cleaned the small cut on his arm and bandaged it. That was nothing compared to what came next, a cold, stinging, scraping cloth against the throbbing flesh of his left shoulder. He hissed and struggled, though so weakly that the youth only a little bigger than him was able to hold him easily. She was not gentle at all, or his skin was so sensitive that any touch was unbearable. The strokes of the cloth might as well be made by the edge of a knife, and he had to fight to keep from screaming.

The torment ended briefly, then resumed as she smeared ointment on the raw wound and firmly pressed a large bandage over the area. The pain faded a bit, nerves pulsing in time with his fast heartbeat. As the robe was pulled back up over his shoulders and the man eased him back down onto the bed, he closed his eyes in relief. He realized he had been crying, yet another blow to his battered pride, when one of them wiped his face with a damp cloth.

"I am sorry, child. A brand is not a wound to leave untended. With daily care, it won't be so painful to treat again. It would be helpful to know, can you tell me how long ago was it done?"

He opened his eyes, the pain giving him some clarity of thought.

"Four weeks . . . maybe."

She leaned forward, shining a light in his eyes that only served to aggravate his pounding headache. Her hand pulled his chin down and fingers pressed into his jaw, forcing his mouth open. The light and her attention focused on his mouth as she turned his head, examining him like livestock. She could have simply asked him to open his mouth instead of using force. The doctor who tended him all his life would have been appalled at the rough, disrespectful handling.

He was too stunned to do more than let out a loud, startled yell when she grabbed his hips and pulled his body sideways on the bed so that his feet were facing the edge, then lifted and parted his legs. The robe was his only clothing, and he was fully exposed to that prying gaze. The shock lasted only a moment, then he was kicking and squirming. Again, he was far too weak and slow for it to make any difference, but after less than a minute she had let go. All he could do was glare at her as she looked at him speculatively.

"He has not violated you, child?"

He nearly choked, and he knew his face must be red with anger and embarrassment after what had just happened. He didn't even stop to think of what might happen if he said yes, if he begged for help. She would not help him, she who handled him so callously as he endured the pain she caused on top of drugging, molestation, and chains. The questioning, the accusation, and especially the pity in her voice pissed him off and he gathered his will and thoughts to speak clearly, angrily.

"Not your concern, and I am not a child."

"Are you finished, Unohana?"

The prince must have come back when he heard the shout, which meant he had heard the healer's question and his sharp response. The man's face was calm, but the overt menace in that smooth voice made him shiver. The healer, still looking at him, did not seem affected, but her assistant skittered off the bed so quickly he nearly fell. He looked up, and met eyes that held both concern and murderous fury simultaneously. He sighed and relaxed, only briefly wondering why he should find comfort in such a threatening presence.

The healer straightened and turned to face the prince. He could no longer see her face, not that he cared to.

"The brand on his back must be treated twice a day, it is in danger of infection from days of neglect. Brands can take many months to heal. Worse, he is severely dehydrated. He should be drinking several ounces of water every waking hour. Highness, can you tell me what drugs were given to him and when?"

"Yesterday, likely in the early evening. I do not know the specifics as it was not my doing, only that it is supposed to take one day to start wearing off, two days to recover and I was instructed not to give him food until lunch today."

Suddenly he had a timeline. He was drugged yesterday. Sometime tonight, then, he might be able to think more clearly. He hoped that was a good thing, but he doubted it.

"With respect, highness, if you do not wish him to become ill then he needs more attention until he can care for himself."

There was a note of blame, of condemnation and he expected the man to lash out at her. Instead, the prince smiled though his eyes were still full of warning.

"My thoughts exactly. I did not have any notice to plan for his care, and as you say he needs assistance and someone skilled in medical needs would be ideal. Would you consider loaning your apprentice to me for a few days while I make arrangements?"

Given what he knew of the monarchy of Hueco Mundo, he suspected that the request was a politely veiled command. There was another squeak from beyond the curtains at the foot of the bed, and he snorted lightly in a mix of amusement and derision. The prince's eyes flicked to his, and the smile reached those eyes for just a moment. He had calmed down enough for his thoughts to start getting hazy again, but he recognized that this entire episode of shame and absurdity might have played out in his favor.

"Of course, highness. Should he plan on taking the attached servant's quarters?"

"That will do nicely. Hanataro, isn't it? Please stay a bit before retrieving what you need. Lunch is on the way and I must dine with the king. If you could make sure he eats before anything else, I would appreciate it."

Toshiro nearly rolled his eyes. He recognized the sweet talk, the bit of false gratitude shown once everyone in the room realized they had no choice but to obey anyway. He had been taught to use such techniques himself, a touch of sugar to dull the bitterness for those who lost. The adrenaline was gone, the insecurity never gone but receded enough to allow him to relax. The promise of an end to hunger was the only thing keeping him awake.

"And plenty of water, Hanataro. I'll send medical supplies; change the dressing and bandages as close to 12-hour intervals as you can manage."

"Yes, ma'am."

"Thank you, Unohana. And since it seems to worry you, he is 15 years old. I would show you the bill of sale and pedigree, but as it isn't your business anyway I will just leave you with my word."

He was glad he was still awake enough to hear that. Amusing, this prince, and not a man to be crossed in any way. What was meant by a bill of sale and pedigree, he would have to consider another time. It might be a lie, but suspicions were already growing in the back of his mind as his attention faded.

Parting words were said, the healer departed. The prince returned to the bedside, and he cooperated as the man adjusted his body and the blankets to make him comfortable. He hummed in exhausted contentment and felt warm lips briefly on his before the prince left him with the youth who had been silent and frozen in place, forgotten.


	11. 11 - Friendship

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 **Chapter 11**

 **Friendship**

It hadn't been intentional. If he had known that the quiet and somewhat small new kid was the favorite royal bastard, he would probably have just avoided the brat and made fun of him when he was reasonably sure it was safe. Renji wasn't a nice kid. He was loud, quick to anger, and constantly getting into trouble just to prove that he existed to the family that didn't want him and the world that didn't need him. He was big enough and violent enough to earn a second look from the military instructors, and he wasn't stupid. He latched onto the thought of glory through arms early, and by the time he was 10 he was selected for elite training at the academy. His parents had praised him for the first time. A solid military career would make him worthy of the family name.

He poured himself into his training, and went into his second year at the top of his class in practical skills. Tactics was a bit of a challenge, but finishing fourth in classroom work in the elite class was nothing to sneeze at. Then came the new kid. Renji didn't care at first. The boy was too silent, too calm, too small to be liked or hated. He was too easy to torment to be worth Renji's effort, and he let the weaker ones make fun of the boy's hair, his name, his silence. There were no royal insignia then, just a uniform like everyone's, and really it wouldn't have mattered. There were royal bastards everywhere.

The aptitude tests for the new year went smoothly, and Renji strutted to the board to enjoy the admiration of his peers and the envy of his rivals, only to have his little world come crashing down. For there, at the top of list for physical aptitude where his name belonged was another, Kurosaki Ichigo. And excited voices all around pointed out a further blow to his pride, the same name at the top of the academic aptitude list. Face reddening in outrage, Renji glared at the crowd. Ten feet behind the gathering of students, in the shadow of the tall pillars, stood one orange haired pipsqueak with a very limited life span.

Two pairs of brown eyes clashed, one angry and threatening, one calm and clear as the desert at noon. An orange eyebrow rose, and a quick, lopsided smirk was flashed before the shrimp turned away, showing Renji his back.

The class gossips would have told Renji who the boy was, would have told him the rumors that the boy had killed several rivals already, and perhaps things would have turned out differently. But no one dared come near him. All his classmates had learned to stay away when he was pissed. The next day training began, and nearly every day involved one-on-one fights to practice the day's lessons. A few students moved to pair up with the new kid, but they backed off when Renji stepped forward, once again facing that smirk but this time over crossed swords.

Most people would have been humiliated, cowed into submission after getting soundly beaten in sword, spear, mace, hand-to-hand, wrestling . . . hell, the damned bastard even out-rode him and out-shot him with the bow. But Renji wasn't most people. He just kept challenging Kurosaki. The instructors stood back, exchanging knowing glances. He managed to wound his enemy several times, and landed in the infirmary more times than he could count. It was only a matter of time before both boys were bedridden side-by-side.

"You're a fucking cheat, Kurosaki."

"Oh? How so?"

God, how he hated that calm, mocking tone. If he had stopped to think, he may have realized that he was the only one Kurosaki ever used that tone with. The teachers, the upperclassmen, even the first years heard only polite, even speech from the boy. And perhaps then he would have wondered what it meant that he was the sole person that the royal bastard spoke to like an equal.

"Throwing sand in my eyes? That's a coward's trick."

The low chuckle was twice as irritating. He considered tackling the brat, but they had both gotten quite a lecture from the healer and the man was only one open door away.

"Does that mean you got beat by a cheating coward? Wake up, Renji. No one fights fair. Not me, not you, and definitely not the one that someday kills you. What I did was not cheating. Nothing I did or could have done would be cheating, because I won."

Renji froze with his mouth open to argue, then caught himself thinking that there was more to those words, a truth he had heard in the classroom but arrogantly ignored, a truth he needed to stop denying. His mouth snapped shut and he stared at the ceiling, barely noticing an orange head turn toward him.

"Huh."

"Glad to see there's a brain in there. I was starting to wonder."

"Shut the fuck up, you spoiled, good-for-nothing little princeling."

"So, you do know who I am."

"Yeah, what of it?"

"How long have you known?"

"Oh, a few months now. So?"

There was silence from the next bed, and Renji was determined to ignore the little shit. His resolve lost to curiosity within 30 seconds, and he turned to see clear brown eyes studying him.

"The fuck you starin' at, Kurosaki?"

A smile. Not a smirk, a genuine smile.

"Call me Ichigo."

ooooooooooOOOOOOOOOOoooooooooo

Though he was habitually late for just about every meeting, dinner, party, or anything else that he could put off, Renji was always five minutes early when Ichigo was waiting. It was a lesson he didn't need to be taught, though his parents had certainly drilled it into his skull. The day he had visited home and offhandedly mentioned that he'd made a new friend, a royal bastard kid with crazy orange hair and a girly name, his life had radically altered. Suddenly, the useless fifth son was the subjected to personal tutors, an unwelcome amount of attention and advice from his elders, and an even more unwelcome amount of envy from his siblings. He soon regretted ever wishing to earn his place in the family, and longed for the days when he was ignored.

Being groomed to earn the favor of royalty was too much for anyone to endure, let alone someone with his temper. He and Ichigo grew closer as Renji sought every excuse to avoid home. And his parents couldn't even complain; their son was constantly in the company of the favorite son of the King. His life was better thanks to Ichigo. The competition between them continued, but the nature of it changed. He still tried to beat Ichigo, but now his rival helped and taught him, and the duo were soon untouchable and inseparable.

He knew that Ichigo valued the way he had not backed down when he was beaten, and not shied away or allowed Ichigo to win just because of his status. By the time they rode together on hunts and raids, a normal part of military training, they had a good deal of trust in one another. The first time he saw Ichigo take down an assassin at the age of 12, his world view altered again. The first time he took a life to defend Ichigo at age 14, he realized that his path in life no longer led where he thought it would.

When Renji turned 15, Ichigo was at his side to celebrate his formal acceptance into the Abarai family, much to the pleasure of his parents and the dismay of his siblings. Nearly a year later, he stood at Ichigo's side, and vowed to himself that he would move Heaven and Earth to be certain his prince survived the five years required to earn his family name and his crown. And when Ichigo turned 20, he did not even think of being anywhere but at his prince's side. It was his life, his privilege, his pride to serve and protect his friend.

So much history, such an unexpected road he had walked to stand here. He was happy with his place in life, content with past and future. How many men could say that?

His sunny mood was eclipsed by sudden clouds when the door to the prince's quarters swung open.

"Oh, if it isn't little Renji! Long time, no see, right tattoo boy? Come in, come in. Hey, I said move!"

He was yanked into the room by the same woman who had kicked him out of bed this morning, the same woman who had moaned and danced on top of him last night. Oh god, he was an idiot. Ichigo had told Chad to send for his cousin. Why had he not put two and two together? What could Ichigo want with the she-devil?

"Renji. I see you've met the new captain of my household guard."

The wicked smirk and the mischief in the brown eyes told Renji that his friend was quite aware just how familiar he was with the golden-eyed vixen.

"Guess that means I'll be guarding your pretty ass, too, eh, Renji? Not my official job, but it would look bad if the prince's best bud got his throat cut. Too bad, that makes you business, and I never mix business with pleasure."

"Will you shut up, woman!"

She smacked the back of his head, hard, while Ichigo chuckled.

"I'd better get going, sir. I'll round up the team and be on duty within three days. Keep this one in line, he's a rude little shit."

He gave a deep sigh of relief when the door closed. To think, he'd have to deal with Yoruichi nearly every day if she stayed in the prince's service. Forget the years of history with Ichigo, and all the fond memories. It wasn't too late, he could still make a living in the military.

"Why? Of all the women and men in Hueco Mundo, why her?"

Ichigo looked as innocent as a lamb as he made himself comfortable in one of the plush chairs and motioned for Renji to sit. He nearly fell into the chair.

"I like her. And you do, too, I hear. More importantly, she's the best assassin in the business. Well, the best one with any honor, that is. What better guard against assassins than Shihoin Yoruichi? Plus, if she and her team are in my employ, it stands to reason no one else can hire her to kill me or mine."

"Then why didn't you hire her 5 years ago?"

"You know why. I would have preferred surviving with no guards at all. You and Chad are exceptions. Come on, you'll survive. My fiancée has very little training in self-defense. I can't have her getting killed before the wedding, and I'd prefer if she was never killed at all. Yoruichi will keep her safe, you won't have to work with her much."

"She mentioned a team?"

"Yep, security will be almost fully staffed at one fell swoop. Chad's getting a couple of personal guards, too, if you have any suggestions. And since Yoruichi will be living here indefinitely, we'll get Urahara Kisuke as a bonus."

"No. Oh, god no. Have you met him?"

Ichigo just grinned. "You having a bad day, Renji? Want me to cheer you up?"

He braced himself for more bad news. Sometimes, Ichigo could be a real sadist. The prince tossed a bag of money at him, and he did cheer up a bit when he felt its weight.

"I've got a job for you. Go make some new friends at The Desert Rose. You've been there before, right?"

"Yeah, a couple of times. It's a cheap knock-off, I'd rather go to Gin's."

"Cheap? Only in comparison, I've been told. You've turned into a whore snob, Renji. Should I hire someone else for this?"

"What do you want?"

"Like I said, make friends. Spend money, more where that come from. Once you have a reputation, I'll let you drag me along to the cheap knock-off whorehouse."

"Uh-huh. Do I get to know why?"

"Payment of a debt. I owe Ichimaru, and I really don't like owing that man a favor."

"This about your birthday present? You going to buy out the best of Nnoitra's lot and give them to Gin or what?"

"Not quite what I had in mind."

"Oh. Ooooh, life for a life."

"But Nnoitra's too cautious. I need to lure him away from his guards, make it clean. Go play nice, and if he doesn't warm up to you after you become a star client, then we'll see if he can resist it when I show up."

"Why don't you just send your new pet assassins after him?"

"Where's the fun in that? Besides, this requires a personal touch. You don't repay a gift like that with a hired killing."

"So he's good, is he?"

"Let's just say that I value the quality of the merchandise and leave it at that."

ooooooooooOOOOOOOOOOoooooooooo

Cheap knock-off was an exaggeration, of course. The Desert Rose was luxurious. If it weren't for that one blessed week 5 years ago, when he and Ichigo had Gin's manor all to themselves, then he would have given his left arm to be a favored client at such an establishment. Okay, maybe not his arm, but a pinky finger at least. It wasn't like he had any trouble finding sexual partners for free, but there was a reason one paid for professionals - skill, lack of inhibition, discretion, and the ability to walk away free of any obligations or resentments.

This place was expensive, but not exclusive, no invitations required. If you were well known, as Renji was, you didn't even need to flash money to be shown into a comfortable sitting room where your many options would be presented to you. It was tawdry compared to the way Gin arranged things. When one walked into The Crowned Serpent, it was like attending a casual but elegant dinner party. You could roam room to room, dine, dance, play various games, swim in the grand baths while the refined professionals made you feel comfortable. There was no hurry, no blatant advertisement like there was in this place. But Renji relaxed into an oversized throne of a chair, with a glass of wine in hand, as women arrived in small groups. There were no surprises, a wide variety of outstanding beauty, some eager, some seeming shy, some trying to appear disinterested to increase a certain type of customer's desire.

Renji really had no criteria when it came to whores. If the cheap, disease-ridden streetwalkers were here, then sure, he'd have a preference. But at these types of establishments, he was offered a choice between sweet, spicy and sultry but all of it top quality. He enjoyed himself, making a show of being pickier than he really was but not insisting on being shown the priciest, most exclusive women. That would come later, when he had spent enough to establish a reputation.

Once he had gotten tired of the pointless selection process, he chose a tall, pale, and comfortably plump blonde, as different as he could find from the demoness he had slept with the night before. It was a very pleasant evening. She was soft spoken and soft skinned, not too pushy or boringly compliant, and quite easy to get off. Not that he usually cared if his whore had decent orgasms, but there was something to be said about the way a woman's muscles locked then became so sweetly wet, so welcoming for more.

There was nothing extraordinary about her or the couple of hours he kept her busy. He even made an effort to talk with her, to do something he had never done and had to force as part of the plan. He bragged a bit about all of his newfound wealth and influence now that his best friend was confirmed as heir. It was funny, here he was paying for sex, but it was boasting about himself that made him feel cheap and dirty.

He made his way back to the wide entry area to let the madam know he was pleased and would return. Oh, the hardships he endured to dutifully serve his prince!

"Oi! Watch where you're going, jerk!"

He looked around in anger at first, his normal first reaction to any insult. Then confusion took over when he spotted the source of the outraged voice. There, kneeling on the floor not five feet away, was a ragged, dirty little street urchin. He would have thought it a boy broken into the manor to steal, except that the voice was definitely feminine, and the small hands were gripping a scrubbing brush. Looking behind him, he saw his footprints clearly through the damp sheen of a freshly polished floor.

The girl scooted forward, not appearing to care that her knees were getting wet, to scrub again at the trail he had left in his wake.

"Damned pervert nobles, don't give a shit about what anyone else has to do to get through the day."

Her aggravated mumbling was just loud enough to hear, just quiet enough that she may try to pretend she had said something entirely different if confronted. His brow twitched in annoyance, but his anger was drowned by curiosity. Just like at Gin's, the maids here were attractive, if not up to the standards of the professionals. And just like at Gin's, all the staff were on the menu, so to speak, should a customer find one interesting.

Why, then, was this one in a shapeless rag of a dress, little more than a coarse potato sack? Dirty skin and hair, unkempt, bare of makeup or adornment, bare even of shoes. She was an eyesore by the standards of a lower-class whorehouse, certainly by the standards of The Desert Rose.

And to speak that way to a customer! A dozen retorts came to mind. The scamp should be corrected for her behavior. But what came out of his mouth was nearly apologetic.

"My shoes are quite clean, you know."

The little maid sat back on her heels with an exasperated sigh. Her pinched expression suddenly changed to an obviously faked brightness, and she looked up with a wide smile and a flutter of eyelashes.

"Of course, my lord! I'm so sorry to have gotten in my lord's way. Please do forgive me, my good lord!"

Any possible response was forgotten as he stared into big, violet eyes. Even with her false saccharine attitude, such rage, pride, and intelligence shown through that he found himself frozen in place. They were the eyes of a queen, of a general, looking up from a dirt smudged face near the floor of a whorehouse. Who the fuck was this girl?

By the time she dropped the act and her head, returning to scrubbing the already spotless floor, his brain had restarted and he turned and walked away. He heard more low curses as he laughed.


	12. 12 - Reflections

.

 **Chapter 12**

 **Reflections**

He had drifted off again. The smell of food woke him, his empty stomach responding by clenching painfully in a demand that even drowned out the ache in his shoulder. The kind but somewhat whiny voice only registered after his eyes had opened to try to find the source of the delicious aroma. His eyes focused slowly as he looked eagerly, and found not the food but the timid boy, young man really. The man was looming over him, too close, and he tried and failed to move away.

"No, let me help. Come on, now, let's sit you up."

He shook his head feebly, not in denial but in an effort to clear his mind. During his moment of confusion, hands grabbed and dragged despite his efforts to push away the body that was now practically pressed to his. He panicked, but the man moved away quickly, leaving Toshiro propped up against the headboard of the bed, a stack of pillows behind him. Trying to calm his nerves, slow his breaths, he watched the young man suspiciously.

"Please don't be nervous. I'm a healer. Well, an apprentice, anyway. I'm just here to help you get better. Anything you need, just tell me."

At least the adrenaline helped clear his mind for a moment. He remembered that the young man arrived with the healer. There was no advantage, then, to asking this one for help, either. By being friendly he may earn sympathy, information, even favors that could lead to an escape. But the risk was too great to take with a man he did not know. What he had seen of the prince told him that his owner was cautious, intelligent, and ruthless. Trying to escape or even gather information could ruin any chance he had of being anything but a body chained to a bed for the rest of his miserable life.

As he fought the haze inside his head to think this through, the young man had rolled a table to the side of the bed. He tried to relax, watching as the stranger placed a tray over his legs. Then the man again sat on the bed, transferring items from the table to the tray. His eyes locked on the steaming bowl and his stomach growled loudly as his hands started to reach for the source of the delightful aroma, so very close.

"Now, now, that's not a good idea. Just wait a second, I'll help."

He was irritated at the delay, at his hands being pushed back down. Hunger was all he knew, and he was sure that he could hold a spoon if he focused. He hadn't eaten since the meal where he had met Gin for the first time, and then had barely touched his food. And it was one more humiliation, sitting passive and being hand fed. The young man flinched, catching the heat of Toshiro's glare. But the first touch of rich stew on his tongue erased all annoyance, all thoughts of pride, and his eyes closed to just savor the moment that his body stopped clenching as the promise of sustenance was delivered.

"That's better. Just take it slow, now, the food isn't going anywhere. We don't want you to eat too fast, you might get sick."

Ugh, he was being treated like a kid, or a doddering old man. And it was deserved. Like a pathetic fledgling in the nest, he leaned in with mouth open, begging each time that spoon brought him another welcome step closer to relief. The stew was thick with fine grain, tender meat cut into thin shreds, and vegetables overcooked he assumed on purpose to make them soft and easy to swallow. He couldn't care less about the mushy vegetables; every bite was heaven, so pleasing that he didn't even complain about the string of encouragements coming from his new caretaker.

Before he knew it, his stomach was warm and content, the bowl empty, and a glass of cool water was held to his lips. He eyed the young man as he drank, thoughts already becoming hard to hold onto as his body sank back into lethargy. It would be easy to think of the youth as a boy, but he was likely older than Toshiro, only a bit taller, lightly built and rather soft looking. Big eyes and shaggy hair added to the innocent, harmless look, along with the timidity in his actions and speech. He was rather surprised to find such a man here, where he had heard all weak children were eliminated.

"Oh, I'm Hanataro, by the way. I'm the healer's apprentice. Oh, I already said that, didn't I? What's your name?"

His chin and lips were wiped for him, that's how useless he was. Despite the hopeful way the man tried to make conversation, the friendliness he radiated as he told Toshiro his name and asked eagerly to know his in return, Toshiro kept his mouth shut, well, when it was not hanging open begging like a dog for a treat. Perhaps he could manage polite conversation with this Hanataro later. But he could not be sure the drugs would not make him say or ask something indiscreet. More importantly, he did not know how his owner would regard anything like companionship.

"If you don't want to tell me, that's okay. Maybe when you're feeling better. Do you like tea? Maybe some juice? Oh, but Unohana wants you to drink more water so I guess I should just stick with that."

Silently, he observed the youth's attempts to converse, amused by the growing awkwardness, and let himself fade into slumber propped on the pillows.

ooooooooooOOOOOOOOOOoooooooooo

It would have been ideal if he'd had the entire day free to dedicate to his new project. But, such was his life and it would only get harder from here on out to find any free time. He wondered briefly how his father managed. The king had been through two wives and had six mistresses. Admittedly, this was his first, a rather unique situation, and still in the lovely blush of a new dawn. Perhaps in time he would not find himself distracted every five minutes with highly inappropriate thoughts.

And there, sleeping half upright on a pile of pillows, was inappropriate thought personified. Mmm, what would it be like to walk through that door and be greeted by turquoise eyes that lit up with desire at the sight of him?

The healer's mousy, little apprentice jumped up from a chair on the far side of the room, dropping a heavy book with a thud. He smiled as the young man stumbled through his title and a clumsy bow. Hanataro was perfect for the job. Now he just had to convince the healer to let him go permanently. True, he could simply order it. But he should not have to. Force or persuasion, there were advantages to each.

"Hanataro, how is Toshiro?"

"Toshiro, highness? Oh, is that his name?"

He raised a brow, making the timid man shiver and lock his eyes on the floor. The terror was amusing, but it would get old quickly. He'd have to tone it down quite a bit. Or, he could just ignore it and the kid would either grow a spine or disappear into the shadows every time he came into the room. Yeah, the second option sounded good.

"Hanataro," he spoke slowly, deliberately, "how is Toshiro?"

"Oh, uh, h-he ate lunch. I m-made him wake up for water an hour ago."

"Good. And he's just slept?"

"Yes, highness."

There was a small desk near Hanataro, and the young man backed away a few steps as he walked over and took out supplies. He wrote a short note and offered it to the man. After three long seconds, he lost his patience waiting for any reaction.

"You enjoy reading. Take this. It gives you access to the royal library whenever you would like to use it. You are dismissed until dinner."

Tuning out the sputtering thanks was easy. He was done with the big puppy, and would pick him up by the scruff and toss him out in the hall if he had to. He stripped off his jacket, tossing it over the chair Hanataro had been sitting in and was still standing by, not showing his amusement when the stuttering ended in a high squeak. By the time he was sitting on the edge of the bed taking off his shoes, the healer's boy had scrambled out into the hallway. It was a good thing his hands were low when he heard the hiss of quiet laughter. By the time he had straightened and turned, he had stilled the impulse to strike whatever had managed to surprise him.

The smile was faint, barely a curve to the corners of that small, delectable mouth. Lovely, and those eyes, works of art flashing bright color through dark lashes. But what really went straight to his crotch was the laugh, not the sound itself but the meaning behind it. He recalled the way Toshiro had responded to the healer, his pride and defiance, and it was possible that his little treasure even felt defensive of his master. If it was not just drugged confusion, there had been a perceptive intelligence behind Toshiro's mirth, the way he picked up on the dynamics between prince, healer, and servant. And Toshiro had not spoken to his new servant, not grilled him for information, apparently not even told the man his name. Ichimaru had chosen very well indeed.

Too soon, he reminded himself firmly, it was far too soon to have earned or to give any trust at all. The boy didn't even have full control of his senses. All the actions that he had admired could point in another direction, that his birthday present was a very well-trained spy. Still, even that was an entertaining possibility, to win the spy over, steal his loyalty.

Leaning far over to be face-to-face with his pet, his hand coming up to cup a rounded cheek, his smile grew as he watched the other's smile fade. There was a flash of fear and defiance, welcome in their sincerity. Had there been no hesitation, no resistance then Ichigo would have known without doubt that the gift was not genuine.

Soon the drugs keeping his pet weak and compliant would fade. There was no point regretting the boy's current state, and it served the purpose quite well. But he found himself wishing things had been different, that Toshiro had come to him unmarred by the physical pain of the brand, alert and in full control of his thoughts and actions. Well, there would be plenty of time to get to know the mind. For now, the body was too tempting to resist any longer.

The fear in turquoise eyes had been locked away, the face inches away from his own becoming still and guarded. He let his fingers drift across the smooth cheek before settling again to lightly frame one side of the young man's face.

"I regret that you were hurt today, pet. Are you in pain?"

Familiar confusion took over Toshiro's expression as he slowly shook his head.

"Do you need anything, water, bathroom?"

The cheek started to move against his hand again, then paused.

"Water." Added as an afterthought, with a hint of a blush, "Please . . . master."

He leaned in swiftly, just a quick kiss, a light grab of the bottom lip between his own, and then he was moving away before Toshiro had a chance to pull back. He ignored the man on the bed, letting him think and decide how he was going to try to respond to whatever Ichigo might do. What a position to be in. The prince almost envied the slave, for while it must be terrifying, surely there was an incomparable thrill involved with being innocent and completely at another's mercy.

When he returned to the bed, he set the water on the nightstand. Next to it, he placed a clear glass bottle of pale amber liquid. The boy watched, distant and nonreactive. As he casually stripped off socks and pants, bare now except for boxers, he held back a chuckle as the boy's eyes widened with understanding. He smirked a bit at the way the panicked eyes turned from the nightstand, to his body, and back again. Then, a delicious combination of a gasp and a whimper as he pulled a thick cord at the side of the bed, parting the fabric at the top of the bed's canopy to reveal the clear mirrors running the entire length of the bed.

Ichigo had no intention of taking the boy tonight, not while he was still too heavily drugged to make an honest choice. But letting him get the wrong idea, then delivering more unconditional pleasure, it would all serve to make his pet frantic for the very thing he now feared. As he sat on the edge of the bed, he watched the pale throat convulsively swallowing as the boy tried to control his reaction. He took the water glass, scooting quickly closer. Toshiro fumbled, trying to push away and failing as his arms were still too weak to move his body efficiently. His arm pushed between the lithe waist and the pillows, pulling the boy smoothly to sit half on the pillows, half on his hip. His large hand easily spanned the small chest, a bit of pressure to lean the boy back against his chest despite the tired struggling.

It took a minute for Toshiro to stop squirming, though he still held himself tense and leaned against the weight of Ichigo's hand. His free hand brought the water glass up, and he felt the boy relax just a little as he placed the glass to lips stretched tight over clenched teeth. He waited, neither of them saying a word. When the boy relaxed a little more, he tilted the glass steadily, letting him drink the entire glass with barely a pause. Thirst had obviously not been a lie or a stalling tactic, and the white head rested against his shoulder with a content sigh, for a moment forgetting to fight.

An opportunity not to be passed over, he leaned his head forward and ran his tongue from the collar of the cream robe, halfway up the long neck before it jerked away and feeble struggles resumed. He chuckled as he held the wiggling form and carefully moved the glass back to the nightstand. His now empty hand stroked white hair.

"Shh, quiet now, darling pet. Have I done anything to hurt you?"

One harsh breath, air hissing as the youth stopped struggling, still rigid. A deeper breath, held and let out with the release of clenched muscles. He knew that his Toshiro had just talked himself into another surrender. What motivations drove the boy, he would very much like to know. Was it simply a need to survive? Was he following instructions from Gin, willingly or no? Was it curiosity, a step toward the lust he knew lay just below the surface? A combination of all that and more, most likely. He could not control his pet's every thought, but he could come close. Reward this surrender, and the next time the youth faces the same choice, he will give in that much more easily, and with the goal and expectation of pleasure that much more prominent.

Circling gently with the hand across the boy's chest, he leaned in again and pressed soft kisses where he had recently licked. The weakened muscles clenched again, relaxed again, and he smiled as the boy closed his eyes and let his head fall back. It could be difficult to remember that this was all new, everything a challenge to the senses. So he kept the kisses light, introducing gentle swirls of the tongue. His fingers teased through fabric until one small pebble began to harden in response, circling, easy and at least something Toshiro had felt before and could respond to without a fight.

He breathed across damp skin, watching smaller bumps rise as the boy shivered. He was not angry with his pet for resisting. Quite the opposite.

"Have I done anything that did not please you, my sweet Toshiro?"

He did not expect an answer, but was thrilled with the whispered, "No, master."

Pushing a couple of the pillows aside, he twisted and raised himself on one knee, lifting and lowering the delicate body to lie on its back, torso slightly inclined. His other knee came to rest on the opposite side of slim thighs, and he paused, crouched over the delicious little morsel for the first time, hand already resuming soothing strokes through silk hair.

Fear had returned to those wide, lovely eyes, and his lover was frozen in place. But it was not only fear. He was certain that what he fleetingly saw was an excitement, a barely restrained eagerness. His pet was not quite ready to be taken, but already the thought had occurred to him and not been completely rejected. Ichigo smiled gently and then slowly lowered his head. He continued petting while he worked the other side of the white neck, so pale that even these gentle kisses left pink marks that made him long to bite at tender flesh. Perhaps, just a little . . .

"Hnn," a tiny moan trapped in the throat he was sucking on. He shifted lower, creating another bruise where he felt the quickening pulse most strongly. "Ahhh!" Much better.

Shifting up to warmly kiss the clear forehead above eyes hiding their emotion once more, he let his hand leave the white locks, trail down neck, breastbone, to undo the tie on the robe. He met those remarkable eyes steadily.

"Let yourself feel, Toshiro. Let me guide you, and I will only seek to please you, my pet. There is so much you have yet to know; shall I teach you something new? A new pleasure we can share?"

His pet could draw no other conclusion than that Ichigo intended to fuck him, and he knew the boy would have some knowledge of just what that entailed. It would not be all pleasure, and it would be shameful to this creature so filled with reservation and inhibition, so unaware of his potential. Such a strange culture his pet must come from, to not understand something as basic as lust and its uses. So, he waited patiently for his pet to deal with a very big decision, one hand gently caressing the newly exposed stomach, lips drifting from forehead to temple to cheek. Still no response from the trembling beauty other than short, quick breaths, faint tremors, and tightly shut eyes.

Then, a moan not held back as his tongue traced down the shell of one dainty ear, and a most unexpected answer. The gorgeous face turned, soft lips closed on his cheek. He turned smoothly, catching those lips with his own briefly. A true, deep kiss would wait, an experience he wished to share with a clear-headed and willing lover. It was hard to resist, the beauty of that sweet gesture almost enough to break his will.

Lifting his lips away, he gave his widest smile and enjoyed the way his pet's stunning eyes brightened in response. Then that smile was moving, down the bruised neck to untasted territory, straight shoulders over those luscious collarbones, long overdue for nibbling and marking. By the time he had enough and moved lower, the boy was breathing heavily with scattered sighs and quiet moans.

Pausing just long enough for his pet to be aware of a change, he brought his hand down along the boy's left side with teasing feather touches. With the same gentleness, his tongue flicked around and then across the small, pink nipple on the opposite side. The svelte body shook in response, and a true, deep moan sounded, none of that quiet, timid panting. He smiled again, utterly beside himself with enjoyment as he rolled and sucked one precious nub after the other to win as many sounds of lust as he could from the innocent minx beneath him.

Speaking of lust, he needed to move on. The drugs and inexperience meant a short stamina for pleasure, and the young man was already straining. He wanted to take time to explore the dips between prominent ribs, to decorate the flat stomach with purple and red, to grip fine hipbones firmly between his teeth. But he had years to indulge such desires, and a goal to accomplish.

Toshiro's face was sin, glazed eyes opening when stimulation stopped, cheeks flushed, forehead sweating, mouth open to let short cries escape between gulped breaths. He licked his lips in anticipation, soaking in the view while he waited for his treasure to regain a little awareness.

"I want you to do something for me, pet." That woke the boy up, his eyes widening in alarm. He leaned in and over, tilting his head to speak into the boy's ear without blocking the view.

"Look up, my sweet pet. Watch as we sink into pleasure. Look up to Heaven, and let me show you how magnificent you are, darling Toshiro."

The long lashes fell and rose, then eyes turned obediently, slowly blinking again in an effort to focus. He watched the already reddened face grow darker, a steady trembling overtaking the thin frame as the boy truly looked at the delicious image that Ichigo so enjoyed. He grinned and moved, baring the marked neck and chest, the weeping and eager erection to the reflected eyes and hearing a gasp and a whimper, just as when he had first unveiled the mirror.

Distracted, his lover did not even resist when he moved down and parted the thin but muscled legs, running his hands up alabaster thighs as he made himself comfortable lower on the bed. When another gasp sounded from above and the legs made a weak attempt to close, he followed his hand with his tongue, up the right thigh.

Again, he had to center himself, pushing aside the desire to tease and recognizing that he had already pushed his partner almost too far. The boy shook and cried out as his flattened tongue dragged firmly over tightened sac and up the damp shaft. He sighed and pulled back for a moment to savor this first taste, and the reaction which would never again be quite so conflicted, so torn between confused shame and wanton desire.

"Look up, Toshiro."

The angle of the pillows made it easy for him to see the boy, and he waited until those eyes opened, clouded with pleasure and a riot of other emotions that would soon be forgotten as pleasure turned to ecstasy. His hands slid underneath thighs, winding around to hold and caress hips, the white legs now held quite wide, knees raised.

"Obey me, pet. Keep your eyes open. And tell me, do you want me to continue?"

Between his hands, hips shifted with need and with a faint groan his pet surrendered again, eyes fixing on the mirror image of debauchery laid out on wine-colored satin.

"Yes," a breathy sigh. "Please, master."

He kissed the wet, reddened tip before him and breathed across it as the small hips flexed again.

"So very good, sweet pet. Remember, keep your eyes open for me."

What could only be called a scream graced his ears as he suddenly took the hard length fully in his mouth, barely tightening for fear of making this end before it even began. A few quick, artless bobs of his head just to introduce his pet to the immense and primal pleasure men were built for, and he paused to hold and massage. As he moved slowly, letting his tongue press and caress on the way back up, he looked to see his pet struggling to obey, eyes seeking the mirror but clenching repeatedly shut between moments of control.

Thin hips in his hands tried to move, to thrust. The lanky torso twisted weakly and legs tightened and fell, tightened and fell away like butterfly wings. And then, as he teased with quick flicks of tongue, pushing in the slit and then suckling to make the musical voice fall into harsh whines and gasps, two small hands managed to find their way into his hair. The fine fingers tried to grasp, scratching his scalp lightly, as the chains brushed down against the sides of his face.

Oh, delightful! He would even forgive his pet for closing his eyes, the swan neck stretched back and taut. He moved to end it, using his arms to lift, to give his weakened pet the blissful feeling of participation, of penetration. Allowing, guiding the head to hit the back of his throat, and again as his hair was nearly yanked out by abruptly strong hands, he felt his lover's climax so close, heard the desperation in high shouts. Finally, he opened his throat and pushed all the way down to fine, white hairs.

"AHHH! Fuck! AH! God Da . . . damn! Mas . . . master . . . GAHHH!"

A string of profanities broke the illusion that this was a tender, innocent child as the pale body convulsed in his grasp. When he could not hold back a chuckle, the added sensation of his clenching throat was too much for the cursing beauty to take. He moved for his pet, rubbing the heaving sides soothingly as he swallowed and sucked until the struggling muscles went lax and the grunting shouts faded to satisfied pants. As soon as he released the spent cock, he made sure this moment made an impact.

"Now, look up." He moved to the side, leaving that lovely, licentious body fully exposed with legs open, hands fallen idle by panting ribs, sweaty, bruised skin glowing. "Open those marvelous eyes, Toshiro."

When his treasure obeyed, turquoise meeting reflected turquoise, there was a sharp intake of breath. His reward, the most sensual and breathtaking moan he had ever heard, filled with longing, shame, and just a hint of despair that he would have the honor of transforming into gratification and pride. He lifted the limp hand nearest to him, bringing it to his lips to kiss palm, fingers, wrist above and below the silver band. He turned his eyes to the mirror, too, watching and hoping that his precious treasure learned from this.

"So beautiful, sweetheart. So much power, the gods themselves would lay this world at your feet."

Tired eyes blinked in confusion, disbelief as they looked toward his own reflection. It may not be true quite yet. It may never be true if the boy was not as intelligent or fierce as he suspected. Time and careful training would tell if this jewel would be as strong as diamond, worthy of the praise he gave.

Pulling the edges of the robe that still hung open around his pet closed, he gathered the exhausted young man, careful of the wounded arm, the raw brand. He did not pull the sheet up, the day and the activity making the room quite warm enough. His chin rested in wild, white hair, arm draped over and holding, aching erection pressed close against buttock and hip, reinforcing the idea of pleasure withheld.

Toshiro was still, compliant, likely expecting him to go much farther, to take his virginity. He would need to leave in less than an hour, no time for sleep. But he closed his eyes and calmed his breathing, letting his pet relax and realize that nothing more was going to happen to him. Only once he was certain Toshiro was soundly sleeping did he open his eyes again to watch him breathe, gaze on the marks on the long neck, and eventually move away, pull the sheet up over his treasure, and slide out of bed to return to his duties, already counting the minutes until he could return.


	13. 13 - Pity & Pride

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 **Chapter 13**

 **Pity & Pride**

Autumn evenings were paradise. The scent of leaves as they dried and began to decay, the unique spice on the air that started to cool along the length of the rippling river, and the light, the ethereal glow that every cloud, branch, and blade caught, the world made of warm candlelight. He would lie stretched along the slope between wood and water, facing west, until every muscle began to ache, and the light began to fail. The long walk back home in chilling gloom, then frozen darkness, was often even more relaxing, a time to feel independent and slightly rebellious as he refused to hurry just to avoid a scolding.

He lingered a bit before starting the journey, ignoring the growing discomfort of idleness as his eyes drifted shut. The temperature was perfect, slightly cool on exposed skin, warm under layered clothing. The still air smelled of damp, earthy, an aroma musty and too organic, almost filthy. Still, he found the scent pleasant, comforting, and he took a deep breath of fall as he opened his eyes.

Holding his breath was a bit foolish, he knew. It was a harmless dream, nothing too bitter nor too hopeful, nothing to cause tears, and yet he seemed to think he could hold on to air that was never there, the air of home. He exhaled, a heavy sigh that drew the attention of that young man. Shit, he'd forgotten to ask the prince if it was acceptable to talk to the man.

Then he remembered why he had not had the presence of mind to ask. It had started okay, his thoughts almost clear. But he had been right, the slight decrease in the effects of the drugs was not good news. His ability to think was a liability, making it more difficult to give in as he must, more difficult to perform the required role and please his owner. He still could not physically resist, yet he did not have the luxury of falling into the haze, not understanding what was real or fantasy. No, it had all been very real, terrifyingly, deliciously real.

The man, Hanataro, had been leaning over him and talking. He focused enough to notice the glass of water being offered, and nodded, letting the man put his arm behind his back. He was able to remain sitting while pillows were once more stacked, then drank what was offered, trying to keep his mind blank long enough to accomplish these simple tasks.

He scanned the room while he settled back against the pillows, looking for and not finding his owner. His eyes moved up, and he groaned, memories flooding back. Watching the blush spread across his cheeks and neck only made it worse, calling back the image of himself, flushed, panting, his hands buried in orange hair that was nestled between his legs. He wanted to think that the sudden rush of emotion was only embarrassment, or anger, or even nausea. But he knew this feeling, the nervous excitement that preceded each event, each time the prince had delivered him unbelievable pleasure, and that feeling was what flooded his senses when he recalled his reflection.

Hanataro had been talking again, asking if he was alright. What a question. He swallowed hard, hand coming up slowly to pull the edge of the robe. For an instant, he did feel sick looking at the largest of the bruises, covering the top of his clavicle, the dip in his skin where shoulder met neck. He should feel sick, right? Repulsed, shamed. But those emotions faded when he remembered how it felt. The way spiked hair tickled his cheek, the warmth and pressure of the large body over his as teeth grazed against the bone.

And that was nothing, just the beginning. His neck, his chest, his cock . . . those lips, that tongue. He had expected hunger, and force, and pain. He had even given his permission for what he thought was going to happen. Now he would have to face that surrender again. How was it possible that he felt such a desire to be touched again, and by a man? How was it even possible, to feel such out-of-control euphoria when he was terrified and helpless in the hands of a man who owned him and chained him like one would a dog?

"Toshiro? Are . . . are you okay?"

His eyes went back to his own face in the mirror before looking at Hanataro, knowing now that he was close to screaming in frustration, breathing uneven, aroused, panicked, pathetic. The healer's boy was watching, eyeing the marks, taking in his reaction. The healer's boy was looking at him with concern, sadness, and pity. Anger was his first reaction; he hated that look. It made him feel helpless and small. Then again, that was exactly right. Was there any advantage to having this young man pity him? Hanataro was gentler than the healer, by far. At the least, the man was likely to continue being attentive to his needs and kind if he felt sympathetic. What else could he get out of this relationship, anyway?

So, he swallowed his indignation and let the man press a cool, damp rag to his forehead while babbling that everything was going to be okay. What nerve, to tell a stranger such a thing, a stranger chained to a bed no less. There was no possible conclusion given the marks, his reactions, no conclusion the apprentice healer could come to but that he had been raped and would be again. To sit there promising that anything would ever be alright required monumental ignorance, or hubris worthy of royalty.

The young man jumped at the sound his weary chuckle. He wasn't hysterical like last time, just bitterly amused and frighteningly aware.

ooooooooooOOOOOOOOOOoooooooooo

"Alright, we have our target. I'll ready supplies, Madarame, if you handle the advance scouts."

The prince settled back, letting his two favorite military minds sort out the details. There was some arguing to be done, but the pair would come to agree on the larger details. Madarame was bold, aggressive, saved from being rash only by a lifetime of military discipline. Halibel was clever, devious, a true strategist who knew how to use the strengths and cover the weaknesses of the young hothead facing her from the other chair. They would be his generals someday, if they all lived long enough.

He and Renji added their opinions when necessary. They thought a lot alike when it came to tactics, as one might expect considering they had learned together. His friend was even more excited than he was, ready for action and the rewards. They would both be ready to ride tomorrow, if only it were that simple.

"Four days then, on the 24th, 6 in the evening to travel through the night. That settled?"

"Four days!"

"You're forgetting the wedding, Renji. There will be a few comments on me leaving so soon to begin with. Fortunately, war still trumps love in Hueco Mundo."

"That will give us plenty of time to prepare, your highness."

Everyone stood as he did, stretching out sore muscles from sitting hunched over maps and charts for nearly two hours. He was starving, ready to get to the hall even if dinner meant conversing with guests lingering after his ascension party.

"Very good. You can rely on Renji for any funds and supplies you need, or to get a message to me as I'll be rather busy."

"Too right you'll be busy! I saw a picture of her. We'll get a wagon ready for you, no way you'll be able to sit a horse after two days with that sweet piece of ass!"

Dead silence. He turned slowly, body tensing, hand going to his hilt almost casually as fury overwhelmed him. Narrowed eyes noted the cringing, the placating smile, like a dog rolling to show its belly with tail tucked, and his lip curled in a snarl. Lunging the eight paces to his target would take only a second, but he took a measured step, the hiss of the metal sliding free broke the stillness.

"Ah, my prince, I didn't mean anything by it. I . . .."

Another step, the black blade raised. Madarame's hands came up, showing open palms, and he leaned back but was not foolish enough to run. Ichigo paused as a long, thin dagger appeared at the man's neck. He had seen the whole thing happening, never losing sight of the other occupants of the room, and he had allowed it, the instant need to kill already yielding to reason.

"That is your future queen you speak of, you fool, and your prince you speak to with such vulgar familiarity."

All bumbling submission vanished with a growl. "Get that knife away from me before I shove it down your throat."

Halibel pressed the edge closer, a bead of red snaked its way down alongside tight tendons.

"Enough."

He hadn't raised his voice, but stillness and silence reigned once more.

"Halibel, you overstep your place."

His eyes never left the beady, rouged eyes of the man as the dagger was removed. She knew why he corrected her. Coming between him and one he intended to kill was not wise. He wondered if Madarame would realize that she had just risked her life to save his sorry ass. Certainly, the moron had finally realized just how close he was to death. Madarame would likely have fought back since Ichigo had been giving him time to react, but Halibel had stopped him. The man was a strong fighter, but he knew he wouldn't have stood a chance against Ichigo even if Renji and Halibel had stood back and let the two fight.

The man fell to his knees, the bald held went down, baring the back of his neck.

"Your Royal Highness, I meant no offense. You have my loyalty, always."

And that was why he had paused, why he would not kill. Madarame was a gifted fighter, a leader by virtue of nerve and charisma rather than skill in tactics and command. Those qualities could be found in many. But Ichigo noted the lack of an apology, the words 'I'm sorry' never left his lips and likely never entered his head, not even with death staring him in the face. It was the same determination he had admired in Renji, the same pride, the same acceptance of the consequences of living by that pride.

"I know it, Madarame. And I expect the same loyalty to be given to the members of my household. Understood?"

"Yes, my prince."

Only then did he sheath his sword, turning on his heel while the arrogant soldier stayed kneeling, eyes on the floor. Renji, who had drawn as well and moved to be between him and Halibel as soon as the confrontation had started, followed him out with naked blade in hand. Once they were several steps from the door, the redhead sheathed and gave a long whistle.

"Damn! What a moron. I really thought you were going to kill him."

"So did I. But he's still needed. And I like him."

"No accounting for taste."

ooooooooooOOOOOOOOOOoooooooooo

The Great Hall was only a quarter full, around 50 people plus the servants and guards. It was a good deal quieter than the night before. Those who had been invited to stay, or had rooms in the palace that belonged, by his grace, to their families, were not the type that allowed themselves to become incapacitated in public. The drunkards had departed, or been tossed out, and a few were awaiting burial. Fools, all.

What his father had told him, and what none of these nobles would believe, was that being king could be mind-numbingly boring at times. But one could not allow complacency; wits and perceptions must always be sharp to survive and thrive. Days like these helped keep him awake, the drama and intrigue surrounding an ascension bringing out all the viciousness of the court to entertain and test the crown.

When his son entered the hall, the Abarai boy at his side, he raised a glass in appreciation of the entertainment. The boy immediately gave a perfect bow, always so carefully respectful. He knew the respect was genuine, he would not have tolerated the whelp otherwise. In truth, the boy was ideal – cunning, ruthless, ambitious but with the ability to seem none of these things. How many had fallen simply from underestimating the boy, or believing in the image portrayed of an average mind, a genial personality? He chuckled, amused as always, and wondered if his own father had found him so diverting.

"The prince seems to be settling into his role well, Sire."

The boy took a seat at a table near his soon-to-be father-in-law, a nearly vacant area as the big man inspired terror in most. He found Zaraki refreshingly honest, though not the kind of man he would want nearby on a regular basis. Enough time in close proximity, and Zaraki would eventually say or do something that would require his death. Best to keep him at a distance, but secure his loyalty. Thus, the upcoming marriage.

"Indeed, Gin, I believe he settled into the role years ago. It is still a surprise to me. I had expected him to fail."

His adviser's grin dropped a little, and his own smirk widened. He was rarely so frank, even with Gin, and it was not often he surprised the devious man. It was true, he had seen potential in the boy early, but the odds were staggering against any potential heir, let alone one that appeared weak, with no strong family through his mother. Gin himself had advised him to favor more than one child, to not count on one surviving. That was what his father had done, creating a pool of potential heirs and a bloodbath. Many of his other children had tried to eliminate the favorite, but at least he had not pitted the boy directly against other hopefuls. It was not kindness, just practicality. Had the boy failed, there were a few others that showed promise and they would still be alive to fill the position.

"I can't say I expected him to do this well, myself. You obviously have better instincts, as one would expect, Sire. The prince has already developed a following, and established connections in business and the military. I suspect his own instincts may rival yours someday."

Only Gin could get away with saying something like that, with a mild threat buried in compliments. I was not news, he was perfectly aware of his son's network of allies. If the boy hadn't built his own cadre, he never would have lived to maturity. The youngsters that followed him were often fiercely loyal, his own testing of that loyalty failing to secure spies in the boy's inner circle. Many had even taken to copying some of the prince's mannerisms, going so far as to adopt bizarre coloring for their hair to stand out like their chosen leader. He wondered how many would still be around if and when their prince gained the throne. It would be a very different court, though he would not be around to see it.

"I look forward to the campaign he is planning. More than the wedding, at any rate. It has been too long since I have ridden to battle, Gin. Perhaps after my son has gathered his glory, we should find a war of our own."

"Campaign, Sire?"

Gin liked to pretend ignorance from time to time. He knew better. His adviser had spies everywhere, a fact which benefited him often. Now he even had a spy in the prince's bed, and two in the his own, that he knew of. Now the new princess, she was free and clear of any influence. He had made certain of that before arranging the match. It would be interesting to see what his son made of her. She did not seem strong enough to most, but then, neither had the prince. She was still standing after years as Zaraki's adopted daughter, and just that fact hinted that there was more to the girl than met the eye.

"Indeed. The prince will be leaving two days after the wedding. It is well, he's due for a raid if a war can't be had."

Raucous laughter from the vicious killer, and a casual grin on the boy's face. He didn't plan on dying, but unless the laws of the universe changed he was as mortal as his father the king, and the queen before him, the king before her. He supposed it did not truly matter who took over, he would be dead and beyond caring. But this boy, this man, was a credit to his own genius, and far more amusing alive than dead. Yes, he had chosen well.

ooooooooooOOOOOOOOOOoooooooooo

Her apprentice answered the door, and she chastised him for it when she saw that the prince was not in the room. The man must not have given Hanataro any directions, perhaps relying on common sense which Hanataro did not always possess. She was sure opening the door to anyone who knocked would be strictly prohibited. Well, it would be the prince's own fault if his toy was killed or taken from him, but she would be put out if her apprentice was killed because of some sex-slave.

Setting out medical supplies, she watched Hanataro removing the remains of dinner and the tray across the boy's lap. The boy was staring at her, and other than a brief look at the coolly impassive expression, she ignored him. This would hopefully be the last time she had to be here, if only her apprentice and the prince would follow her instructions. She had no desire to have any further contact with this entire, disgusting situation.

Finally, Hanataro seemed to have finished with the domestic duties that had been forced upon him. The arrogance of nobility, to take her apprentice, to interrupt his training for something like this. Admittedly, Hanataro would not be as skilled as she no matter how long he studied with her, but he was still competent enough to be of greater use to society than as a nursemaid for a whore.

"These supplies should see you through a week. By then, the prince will hopefully have found a more appropriate caretaker. Now, I want you to clean and bandage both wound and brand, so that I can be sure the boy is receiving proper treatment."

"Yes, ma'am."

Hanataro went to retrieve water and a cloth, moving all of the needed items to the small table by the bed while she watched, stepping closer to observe. The boy had looked away, staring glassy-eyed at his hands, folded in his lap.

"Toshiro, I need to take care of your arm and shoulder. Is that okay?"

The boy's eyes closed and he sighed, reaching to loosen the tie of his robe and leaning forward. As he moved chained hands to slide the robe off his shoulders, he looked back at her. So, the prince had taken the boy after all. She did not react, having expected worse, and her eyes cataloged the bruises, none severe or indicating broken skin. No, they were just 'love bites,' she did not see any evidence of violence. That was a relief, if only in that she would not be called to treat injuries if the prince did not plan to use the boy too roughly. She did not examine him, and she would not offer him any treatment to relieve the pain she knew he must be experiencing. The boy had made it clear that her help was not welcome.

Retsu turned her attention back to Hanataro, who had already cleaned the small cut on the elbow, hardly I need of treatment but she would do her duty thoroughly so that she could say that she had ensured quality care if the prince ever had reason to question. The boy's gaze shifted back and forth, watching her, then watching Hanataro's face, then watching Hanataro's hands and back again. He said nothing, expression revealing nothing except mild discomfort and wariness, until Hanataro finished and moved, reaching for the bandaged shoulder. His flinch when the bandage pulled away was followed by a familiar hiss as Hanataro washed away the old salve. She was pleased to see that her apprentice went about his task efficiently.

"Watch for necrotic tissue over the coming days. It is important to remove it quickly since the wound was not well tended. It will become much less painful if it is kept clean and allowed to heal for a week. Had it been cared for properly, infection would not have set in and the only discomfort would be tenderness in surrounding tissue. The brand itself would not cause pain by now, the nerves already dead. Do you understand?"

"Yes, ma'am. I have treated brands before."

She was slightly surprised that he asserted himself, though in such a distracted tone that he might not have realized it. The words were for the boy, to let him know that this pain, at least, would not hurt as badly soon. Another moment of pity brought on by the misery evident in the boy's face. He was a pretty thing, unique, handsome if his face matured the way she thought it might. She could see why he ended up in a prince's bed.

The intriguing eyes locked on hers, sparking with anger as if he had heard her thoughts. Retsu smiled, a lifetime of witnessing the worst sides of humanity, atrocities and cruelty beyond imagining in her eyes, and watched his eyes narrow and then turn away. A smart little thing, too, perceptive. It would likely end in even greater tragedy, a clever slave in the hands of a heartless tyrant. But such was the way of this world.


	14. 14 - Surrender

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 **Chapter 14**

 **Surrender**

Dinner had been slightly less humiliating than lunch. He still was not permitted to feed himself, but he was not desperate with hunger and managed to maintain a bit of dignity. Allowing pity from the young man was bad enough. When the heartless healer showed up again, he thought he might lose his temper and make a fool out of himself, ranting or resisting when he had no power or authority of any kind. She was tolerable this time, never as much as touching him, and so he endured. When the healer wasn't pissing him off by showing false compassion, something about the woman made his skin crawl. It was as if he was not looking at a human being at all, but some dark creature wearing a human disguise.

He pushed aside thoughts of the healer in the face of another indignity, the simple need to relieve himself and the inability to do so without assistance. Throughout the meal and the tending of his wounds, he had been trying to ignore his body. He could hold out, wait for the prince to return. A moment of shock as he examined that thought. Why would he feel better about shitting in front of a man who had molested him, rather than the fairly harmless Hanataro, who flinched satisfyingly at when he scowled?

Oh, never mind. The fact remained that he had a need and it would not wait.

"Hanataro."

An armful of gauze and ointment went rolling in all directions as the young man jumped with a small squeak.

"Oh, you can talk!"

That was stupid. He had spoken to the healer, yelled at her. Hanataro had been two inches away from him at the time. He rolled his eyes.

"I need the bathroom."

"Huh? Oh, of course, let me help you."

The man kicked some of the medical supplies in his rush to the bed, reaching toward him, apparently forgetting a rather important fact as he sat at the edge of the bed and put an arm around him to help him up.

"Hanataro. The chains."

He was trying to decide if the healer's apprentice was distracted because he was intelligent and always thinking, or, more likely, simple minded or just incompetent. After a few minutes of him running around, flustered, Hanataro returned with the small silver key and started with his hands. He watched, debating asking for the cuffs to be removed, as well. Best not push his luck. He had already talked to the man, which he had been trying not to do until he could ask permission.

At least he managed to convince Hanataro that his help getting to the bathroom was enough, and he was left alone, though knowing the man was just outside the bathroom door. There was nothing here that would help him, anyway, not unless he decided to drown himself, or perhaps break a mirror and try to use a shard as a weapon. Uh-huh, attack the bumbling apprentice, run, more accurately stumble and fall, out into the hall of a palace in the middle of a hostile city in the middle of a deadly desert. With a piece of glass.

He sighed and at least enjoyed washing a bit with fresh water, softly scented soap, and a damp towel. The young man was making noises of concern over how long he was taking, or he might have tried to draw a bath. As it was, he was dizzy, unsteady on his feet, and might succeed in suicidal drowning by accident. He chuckled at his reflection, and leaned heavily on the counter as he made his way to the door.

By the time Hanataro half dragged his failing body back to the bed, he didn't even have the energy to protest the return of the chains. He could think now, almost normally though moments of fatigue and confusion still lingered, not to mention the annoying way his body would cooperate just enough to get him to rely on it, then completely shut down on him. So, he thought.

He began to wonder if it would be better to just stop thinking at all. After all, he would spend minutes or hours trying to predict various scenarios and how best to respond to them, he would agonize over whether to fight or surrender, he would plot ways to turn things to his advantage, and in the end, nothing was asked of him. None of his careful plans meant a damned thing as his body took over, taking any authority away from his mind, discarding rationality in favor of newfound pleasure.

Perhaps this was why whores existed, why otherwise intelligent people like Rangiku and Yumichika ended up flat on their backs. Perhaps they, too, wanted escape but found their will repeatedly subjugated to carnal desires every time they were touched, like a defect of birth, a disease of the soul. Perhaps he was born to be a whore and nothing more, and this was simply his fate finally sinking its claws into him.

ooooooooooOOOOOOOOOOoooooooooo

He was glad Renji had left after dinner, replaced by the thankfully quiet Chad. Bad enough dealing with the women, he was quite sure he would have ended up killing someone if he'd had to endure Renji's teasing on top of it all. Really, it was just a ceremony, one that had been planned for well over a year. He supposed maybe the last-minute excitement was because they all figured he'd die before they were able to have their fun.

Fun? What the hell was fun about it? He'd learned to enjoy some of the glamour and pageantry of the court, at least the effect of it, the way it made underlings beg to be demeaned. The oldest families still held themselves apart, prowess and power were the only gifts they brought to grace a royal party, and it was enough. But the newer nobility were entertaining. Some worked their entire lives to secure the right to spend their fortune on finery and gifts, then throw themselves at the foot of the throne, counting themselves lucky to leave destitute for they had been in the presence of greatness. It would be disgusting if it weren't so hilarious.

That thought got him through the worst moments, with his father's mistresses and their favorite ladies all clucking and chirping and shooting venomous glares at one another. The wedding would be a good deal more formal than the ascension. Those who had not beggared themselves to attend the one would be broken by the other. He would receive even more valuable goods than at his ascension. And he would not be the only one benefiting.

Ichimaru Gin, for example, would be profiting heavily from the event that cost so many other nobles. The man had been selling his influence to secure invitations from the king for those who could not count on receiving the honor on their own merits, with his father's full knowledge and approval, of course. His escorts would also be highly sought after by those without presentable mates, with the favored position of his establishment as the king's and the prince's bordello of choice. No doubt other, shadier deals were made to profit the royal favorite, and some of the other high nobles would make out like bandits through similar arrangements with their less influential peers.

So it was that his thoughts were dark throughout the bright and joyful prattle about decorations and seating arrangements, his garments and his words, which parties of guests deserved his eye contact, which earned a nod, which should be graced with actual speech, who's family would have the best suites, how many servants needed to be brought in temporarily, all the bullshit that had been decided months ago but now must be rehashed at top volume, for no reason at all. It did not help his mood when his future father-in-law, the only other sane person in the room, trampled on custom within 5 minutes and left with a glance filled with utter horror at the ladies.

Just a couple more days and it would be over. A couple of days after that and he would be riding free over the dunes. At least consolation was available in between, and some of his anger drained away as he made his way back to his rooms where he would relax, take care of some correspondence, and then remind himself of the finer rewards of his position. In fact, he had put up with quite enough in the last few hours since seeing his pet. He decided that correspondence could wait, and he dismissed Chad, hurried through a quick wash and decided to skip clothes altogether, leaving his bed unused for a second night.

Slipping into the dark room through the private entrance, he quickly noted that the little mouse had departed for the day, showing enough sense and independent thought to not wait around until nearly midnight for his return. The room was clean and neat, his treasure secured in bed with water and a cord to pull for service within easy reach. All was well. The heavier curtains were drawn back on all sides, allowing clear moonlight from the high arrow-slit windows to filter through the lace and down onto the sleeping form, once more slightly curled on his right side, one leg drawn up, arms loosely stretched in front of his chest. Though most of him was tucked under a sheet and a thin blanket, he paused to admire the peaceful face, silver-lit under the soft, ghostly locks.

Bright eyes were darker in the dim light, almost cobalt as they blinked open in response to movement. He slid under the covers, adjusting a pillow and moving to be close, to fit himself to that curve, head a bit above the white hair, arm draped over waist and bent to rest his hand on the warm chest. His pet held perfectly still, not even tensing, only the speed of his breaths and the stirring of long lashes giving away that he was awake at all.

Tucking his head closer, he breathed in the clean scent, missing the floral vanilla that had faded and washed away. Warm, silky skin greeted him as he worked his hand through the folds of the robe, and he petted downward, to the end of delicate ribs until he reached the restriction of cloth and worked to untie the sash. There was no response at all and a touch of anger returned before he realized how unreasonable it was to expect a welcome of his advances. Toshiro had done so well, had been so responsive, that he had forgotten the details, how short a time it had been, how the boy was not prepared for this life, and most importantly how the drugs had made his body more susceptible while hindering his mind.

His own need had taken control for the moment, the frustration and irritation he had felt needing a release. Someday, if he was patient and fortunate, Toshiro may be a source of that release, a comfort as much as a pleasant diversion, perhaps even a confidant and comrade. Or, if the boy proved deceitful or too defiant, he would provide a different type of release, the pleasure of breaking. For now, he needed to remind himself that there was work to be done here, as well as pleasure to be had.

He relaxed, leaving the robe loose under the covers, letting his hand stroke gently along thigh, hip, down to navel and back up again. Like calming a kitten, though, oddly, the boy was showing no signs of fear, resistance, not even the flinches that spoke of his effort to move away and his effort to comply warring with one another. And that was his first hint that something had changed. Testing his instincts, he brought his hand up the back of the smooth thigh. When his hand reached the gentle curve, fingers pushing between skin and trailing up, the only reaction was a sharp intake of breath, no startled yell, no attempt to move away.

What was it? Had his pet given up, talked himself into total surrender? That wasn't right, not at all in keeping with the spirit he had seen even when heavily drugged. He didn't want a fight, but he did want to win over his pet, the one he thought he had seen. He wanted to show that intelligent, passionate, beautiful pet his own worth as a lover and master, earn his pet's surrender with the boy's pride intact. It was too early for victory, something else was going on here.

Either the boy was indeed a spy, now clear-minded and playing his games, or was it possible he had broken the boy's will already, caused him to shut down in the face of misplaced shame? He had been gentle, considerate. But his pet was not typical. Not raised a slave to be so compliant. Not raised in a place where sensuality was worn like a crown, where sex was a weapon, a reward, a prize. It was an additional challenge, to try to understand what the boy was thinking, and how to direct him when in many ways they did not speak the same language. And that gave him an idea.

His hand returned to even gentler strokes along leg and side. He raised his head a bit, elbow under him, hand in white hair with short, soft pets.

"When you first came to me, pet, your hair smelled of something so sweet. What was that, do you know?"

A slight lifting of the chin.

"Vanilla and sakura blossoms, master."

No hesitation in calling him master. What was going through that head?

"It suits you, a rarity."

The white brow moved, pinching in thought.

"A rarity?"

"Mm-hmm. Growing trees in the desert, trees that do not produce significant food or wood, is a luxury. The water and the soil, all to create something useful only for fleeting pleasure, sakura is a valuable rarity. One could trade for it, of course, though there are still many respectable families that would never do so."

"Why is that . . . master?"

"To trade does not bring dishonor as it used to. Time was, if your family could not create what it needed, and could not conquer those who created it to procure it as spoils of war, then you simply did without. Now, we have grown soft and addicted to our luxuries. Purchasing fine things is acceptable now, jewelry, cloth, even scents that serve no purpose but to please."

"You sound as if you approve of this change, master."

There. Intelligence, and his curiosity was starting to show. He knew he had been right about his gift's mind.

"I do, pet. Our people still live harsh lives. The desert will never be tamed, never be an easy home. But we have succeeded in carving our mark into the wastelands. It is time to enjoy the rewards of civilization. I know very little about your home. Is Seireitei a harsh place or a land of plenty?"

Now his pet tensed, obviously surprised and discomfited. Thoughts of home were painful? He would miss it, of course. What had he gained coming here but pain and fear? He waited, slowly petting hair, hip, and leg.

"It is a land of plenty. Few want for food or shelter, and most have enough to feel secure. The sea provides much, the land is fertile and water is everywhere."

He chuckled a little, earning a startled glance from the corner of those beautiful eyes. This seemed to be working, waking the boy up from whatever stupor he had fallen into.

"My mother read me tales. Often, they were as harsh as the desert, tales meant to warn and instruct. But she had a gentle heart, and sometimes they were fanciful stories of happy princesses and brave princes questing through dark forests. Places where people were friendly and worried about things like true love and justice. I always pictured the trees, for some reason, great trees that touched the clouds and grew so thick that they blocked the sun. In my childish brain, trees came to represent prosperity and security; even if they might hide ogres, the brave prince would slay them and rescue the princess."

"I . . . I like that. There are forests like that, where you can walk at noon and it seems like dusk. I used to play in a wood not quite that wild, for hours . . .."

The quiet voice trailed off, a hint of sadness.

"I've never seen a sea, but I've heard of it. One of my tutors called it a desert of water."

A little huff of breath in amusement, not enough to tease out a smile. His pet shifted a little, drawing his arms in a bit.

"I have amused you?"

"I'm sorry, master. I did not expect such poetry."

"I understand. Hueco Mundo is not known for its artists, after all. But the desert breaths poetry. You will see, someday, this land is beautiful in its savagery."

"The sea is like that. It can be still and as mild as moonlight. And it can swallow hundreds of sailors leaving no trace behind. But something about it draws men to it, evokes a sense of adventure and romance even in the danger. For those that risk it, the sea provides food and riches greater than any land."

"And have you been on the sea, pet?"

"Only twice, master, on the big ships that travel out so far that you cannot see the coastline. I did not live near the coast, but I visited the beaches several times, to fish, to gather clams, or just to swim."

His pet certainly came from a different world. Even wealthy children did not travel much here. Other than war and business, possibly staying in touch with family, there were few reasons to travel. The little slave had seen more than some nobles he knew.

He bent his head down, kissing just below the dainty ear and whispering.

"That is a lovely image, you diving into the sparkling water. Did you take your clothes off, pet, to be closer to the sea?"

Now there was a reaction, the distracted youth suddenly blushing and the calmed breathing picking up pace once more.

"N-no. Generally, one swims in shorts or pants."

"How disappointing."

He sucked on the reddened earlobe, then let his tongue drift around the edge, back down the inner shell, and still his hand drifted slowly up and down.

"There is an oasis a day's ride north, not big enough to support a village." He laid a few kisses on the flushed cheek. "Few know of the hidden cave nearby, with an ancient waterfall that has carved a great lake of the clearest water you will ever see."

His hand dragged the sheet and blanket down as it moved, and his lips moved down to the pale neck, slipping over the lovely marks they had left earlier in the day.

"There is a rift in the roof of the cave, letting the sunlight spill in and light the water ablaze with gold and red. If I took you there, would you swim naked through the fire for me? Would you let me join you in the embrace of the water?"

The lithe body shuddered as he dragged his tongue back up along neck, jaw, returning to where he began. Once again, he did not expect a response to his questions. Once again, he was delightfully surprised. The white-crowned head turned to look him in the eye, body leaning back against him, so close their noses nearly touched.

"Of course, I would, master."

ooooooooooOOOOOOOOOOoooooooooo

Plans ruined again. Just as his owner's touches had destroyed his weak attempts at resistance, the words he heard ended his resolution to give in to fate, to be nothing but a plaything. The glimmer of a sharp and interesting mind was almost irresistible. Add to that the hint of life, the implied promise that someday he would see and know the desert, followed by the seemingly sincere wish to take him elsewhere, somewhere with water and sunlight, he had not stood a chance.

So, he turned toward his captor, his tormentor, and he looked into dark eyes that held so much more than the arrogance and viciousness he had expected. He recalled Rangiku's words, his own determination to make something of this life. He let the stroking hand on his hip remind him that, so far, nothing unbearable had happened to him. In fact, quite the opposite. He imagined the scene the prince had painted, swimming in bright waters, being held against a warm chest as cool liquid swirled across his bare skin.

Something inside him broke. No, more like part of his will gave way, softer and less damaging than a breaking. All this fighting with himself, this vacillation, one-minute standing by his pride, the next playing some kind of game to conquer his captor, and then falling into apathy that could easily swallow him whole. He would forget it, move past it. He would not give up who he was, not blind himself to the risks and rewards, but he would stop this pathetic indecision and move boldly forward.

"Of course, I would, master."

And, at least at that very moment, he meant every word, even the last.

His lips were kissed, a quick movement, then kisses were laid all over his face, tickling and tingling, little pecks on his nose, up and down his cheeks, even his eyes as they fluttered shut. Then they opened wide as he heard himself giggle. It was quiet, and he cut it off as soon as he realized it. He was horrified, such a silly, girly, childish sound in such a situation. His startled gaze caught the wide smile, the expression that had first made him think that there was some good in the fearsome killer he had been given to, and he held his breath through another bevy of kisses.

"My darling Toshiro, have you ever been kissed?"

At some point in this playful frenzy, he had been pulled and hadn't even noticed that he was now facing the man, bodies touching almost everywhere. He ducked his head away from the kisses and the bright smile.

"And what were you just doing, master?"

A light chuckle and a hand cupped his cheek, thumb sliding under his chin to make him look up again. The voice was amused, no hint of reprimand in the tone for his cheeky response. But the next words were firm, not to be evaded.

"I think you know what I'm asking, pet."

"There was a girl I knew, we spent a few days together. Yes, we did kiss."

The slow caressing resumed, now his other leg, the right hip and side receiving the attention.

"Did you enjoy it?"

"Of course, I did. It was awkward at first, but nice."

"You did a lot of kissing, then. Did you have sex with her?"

"No." He realized he'd nearly snapped the word, but again, his owner seemed to ignore any offense.

"You touched her, though. Here?"

The hand slid up to his chest, over the loosened robe. He held back a sigh at the feeling of the silken material brushing across his skin, fingers pushing a bit to graze his nipple. Why that should cause tingling all the way up to his scalp, all the way down to his groin, he couldn't fathom. Did it feel like that to her when he had fondled her breasts, when he had circled his fingers around her nipple just like that?

"Yes."

The robe was pushed back over his shoulder, cloth slithering across his back. Fingers trailed across his waist, to circle his navel and his skin warmed. He stared at the broad chest before his eyes, and did not recall telling his hand to move, to rest his palm on even warmer skin. His hand was so pale against the dark bronze in the night, the thin silver chain and bracelet catching faint light, an even more alluring contrast.

"What about here, my pet?"

"Yes."

He bit his lip, knowing, anticipating, the firm touch over his hip again, down his thigh, turning, up along to soft seam of his legs.

"And here, sweetheart? Did you feel how different she was? How soft?"

There was nothing soft about what those wonderful fingers were feeling, he was embarrassed to note. What started as autonomous arousal in response to those long, tender pets had quickly gotten out of control. He could practically feel the blood rushing south, the flesh swelling even more to meet the massaging touches.

"Did you feel her cum from your touch?"

"Nnnn . . . no. I did not . . . oooh . . .."

Letting go of embarrassment, letting go of the memories, of the soft girl, as it was meant to be, a woman beneath him, moaning at his touch, not a man making him twist closer, making him want to push his hands up the hard, flat chest to strong shoulders. He had nothing against two men being together. He had seen it often enough, and knew of his uncle's secret love. But it was not a possibility he had considered for himself, not a desire he had thought he was inclined toward, until now. And now, oh, how that was changing.

"Tell me, pet. Have you ever _been kissed_? Have you ever felt the world spin around you, felt _this_ ," a quick push against the sensitive head of his cock, and he moaned, "from just a kiss?"

All this talk, this damned talk, wasted breath, wasted time. So close, why did he not just kiss him?

" _Never_."

That dazzling smile. Didn't that mouth have anything better to do?

"Well then, sweet one, shall I teach you something new?"

The hand teasing his erection had backed off entirely, loose fingers, his hips shifted, trying to renew friction with little success. His temper flared, beyond irritated at this denial, and without thought he let go of his role, his careful submission, along with everything else.

"Goddammit!" He pulled on those strong shoulders, tilting his head as he closed the distance.

Those lips were smirking, he could feel it, and he considered biting out of frustration. Then, so soft, so warm, lips guiding his like a dance. Nice. Not sloppy and hurried like his own efforts. Gentle opening and closing, a little tug of his lip. Nice. But not the great revelation he'd been promised.

They parted, his eyes locked on those lips, licking his own by reflex. Nice enough that he had forgotten to breath, and he sucked in air just in time.

A new step in the dance, a little more firm, soft again. Then, his bottom lip being sucked on, the hand brushing into his hair somehow complementing the movement. His mouth opened immediately when he felt the insistent push of lips parting his, the wet warmth taking the time to stroke his upper lip before slipping in between his teeth. He met that tongue with his own, but passively, wanting to feel what his owner would do, holding back his own instinct to push forward.

He remembered his own kisses, unsure but trying to please, the girl squirming and shying away. This was nothing like that, not rushed, not uncertain. The smooth muscle petted his, wrapping lightly, tugging as confidently as it had licked his neck, his cock. The tip flicked against the roof of his mouth, sudden tingling, as it had against . . . oh, yes! The world not spinning, but tilting quite madly as he gasped for air between assaults, wondering how it could be so different from what he remembered.

Another pause, gulps of air, he realized he was lying on his back now, large, hard body above him, one long leg in between his. Pressure returned where he wanted it most, the palm circling, making him spend a breath on a shameless cry, then sliding slick down his length as any new cries were lost in another kiss. His hands moved from shoulder to clasp behind neck, chains annoyingly trying to come between their skin.

That tongue trailed against his, dragging to his tip and retreating between open lips. And again. He followed instinct, followed the tongue. How clever, teasing and leading without words, getting him to chase that tongue into the larger mouth, taste not quite foreign after all the sharing of saliva and heat. He was the one to break away, to steal a second of sanity before pushing into his owner, his lover. There, the bridge crossed, and so much easier now to let lust have its way, guide his tongue to explore, to try to tease the way _his lover_ had teased, to give pleasure instead of only getting, taking.

And all the while, the hand pumping his length, gently, slowly. He found that his legs would respond, he could push up, not strongly but enough to encourage, but he was denied, the hand pausing instead of complying each time he tried to speed the rhythm. He tried to play along, distracted now by the tension, heated kisses, the need for more as the prince took back control of his mouth as his entire body ached to get closer.

He drew his leg up, the right one not pinned under heavy muscle, first bending the knee and using the leverage to thrust. Again, he was refused, the hand stilling until he stopped trying. So, he lifted his foot and wrapped his leg as far around the man as he could, pulling them together. Lips broke away from his with a deep groan, and he nearly came at the sound. His lover, his owner, had given few such obvious signs of pleasure, and it brought him nearly as much heat and want as the deep kisses. He tried to buck his hips again, feeling the greater length of his lover's erection trapped now with his own, and he contorted, rubbing to the side and up, seeking to bring the two closer. Where the stroking hand had gone, he neither knew, nor cared.

"Oh, god . . . please! Please, more . . . I . . . Ahhh! Faster!"

The missing hand grabbed just below his knee, pulling. He resisted, but still his muscles were weak and the man was so much stronger. His leg was not forced away, just repositioned, not wrapping as high, trailing around the long thigh. And he soon learned why, the hips freed to flex, to grind into him, and what might have been a scream was silenced as he fought for breath, the sudden rush of sensation taking air, vision, thought, everything except the almost painful knife-edge of bliss.

A motionless moment, a heartbeat that lasted an eternity, and that hard cock was sliding down his, pressure lightening, then returning with fast force as hips snapped forward with a rush of hot breath. Again, blessedly faster, and his hands tightened, pulling, panting mouths finding each other. Messy, sloppy this kiss, delicious in a new way, broken by moans and grunts and the force of their bodies straining against one another.

A wave of bliss from a harsh thrust tightened his muscles, his head stretching back again, and his eyes caught the dark mirror above. His lover's back, rippling with tension and effort, rounded ass thrusting, long legs tangled with his own. The curving lines, the synchronicity of movement . . . beautiful. So very beautiful.

He didn't know how he had lasted this long, but still he was suspended there a breath away from release, every moment delectable torture.

"Master . . .," almost a plea.

"Toshiro . . .," a sweet moan, drawing his nerves past the breaking point.

A flood of warmth, pulsing ecstasy as he clung to the source, the beauty and he knew his voice was loud, his body was shaking, and he did not care, not even a little. When the body above him pushed harder, quicker, it only made the pleasure sharpen, and he cried out again when he felt the increased heat and damp, the face so close to his suffused with the same feeling that ruled his senses. Fascinated, his eyes devoured that sight, and for the first time he felt it, the power that this man had hinted at.

That thought he tucked safely away to enjoy ebbing waves of bliss. This time, drugged fatigue would not drag his awareness away, and he reveled in the full body contentment, every part of him sharing in the rewards of discarding inhibitions. He moved his leg, rubbing, his hands unlocked, caressing, the body above him still lost in pleasure, still recovering conscious thought. Brown eyes opened, locked onto his eyes, and then he was locked into another kiss, breathless and hot, languid, undemanding. Nice.

"So sweet, my pet. So good." A whisper against his lips, and he hummed in response.

The large body, held by knees and one arm all this time to keep weight off him, turned and his lover settled on his back, pulling him along willingly to rest against his side. He adjusted his head on the slightly sweaty shoulder, his arm across the stomach wet, growing cool and sticky, his leg still trying to stay wrapped up with the other.

To hell with propriety. To hell regrets for a life lost, fears of a life to come. To hell with everything but this.


	15. 15 - Meanwhile

**A/N – Timing is everything. Events in this chapter take place two weeks after Toshiro was kidnapped** , while he was still on the road to Hueco Mundo. Obviously, couldn't put this chapter where it belongs chronologically, too many spoilers.

Thanks for reviews Karupin Sama, DenIchi Hitsugaya, and extra thanks for Princesssatz - over half the comments on this story are from you!

* * *

 **Chapter 15**

 **Meanwhile . . .**

The prosperity of the surrounding towns spoke of fine leadership; the security and geniality of the people spoke of caring and firm justice. A cavalcade of horses and carriages drew crowds everywhere, but here the townsfolk usually cheered with an air of familiarity, as if the visiting prince were their own lord. And well they might, for the prince was a common sight. Shunsui had known the local lord most of his life, the two being close in age and Ukitake being high enough in rank to have been dragged to court frequently. A simple childhood friendship had grown into the deepest and most important bond he had ever known.

The atmosphere this time was different. The crowds still gathered to witness the pomp. Children still cheered, and adults still called greetings and blessings. But their voices were subdued, or plaintive. Their looks were sorrowful, or hopeful that help had finally arrived. The somber air quieted the soldiers and aides, even the horses sensed it and moved with purpose rather than flair. He breathed a sigh of both relief and anxiety when his friend's manor came into sight, an impressive and well-tended home overlooking a flourishing town on one side, a lovely river valley of farmland, pasture, and forest on the other.

He would have described this house as one of the most peaceful places he'd ever known. Nearly every visit had been a pure pleasure. The easy charm of Lord Ukitake, the way he gave his full attention to his guests and made them feel like part of his family rather than burdens to be entertained or patrons to be fawned over had always made him find reasons to spend more time, to stop more frequently. He had come, too, when dark days stole the joy from the visit. When Ukitake's wife had died in childbirth, taking their unnamed daughter with her, when his beloved sister had succumbed to a similar fate, her young son thankfully surviving, and again when his brother-in-law was murdered, leaving that same son with no family but Ukitake.

So small, the quiet child that had stood straight and proud, the only concession to youth and grief being the tiny hand clasped in the long, pale fingers of his uncle. And his eyes, turning up to analyze the prince before and after a graceful bow, too sharp for a child, too cold. He knew, from what Ukitake had later told him, that the boy grieved like any orphan, shed tears and endured nightmares, but he never showed a hint of it to anyone but his uncle. Only three days after witnessing the murder of his father the boy sat polite and controlled through a formal dinner. Had the tiny 8-year-old been in an adult body, Shunsui would not only have judged him a fine courtier, but an intelligent and potentially dangerous or valuable one.

The years had reinforced his opinion. The child was clever, with a cool dignity that made his somewhat arrogant manner seem acceptable. He had found himself outfoxed a time or three, the boy debating and turning phrases like a little king. Little Toshiro won over the people, as well. Bottomless curiosity had the boy running around the town, the villages and farms, asking wide-eyed questions, showing avid interest in every opinion, lending a hand in every trade. One day would find him up to his ears in paperwork at the city administration office, the next day up to his ankles in pig manure at a remote farm. Even the grouchiest elders, the young soldiers, the passive rebels who sneered at aristocracy, they all loved the boy despite how he rarely smiled, never laughed, and could be intolerably haughty at times.

Only the fact that Ukitake's kindness and sense of responsibility for protecting others seemed to have rubbed off on the child kept Shunsui from worrying that a powerful rival was growing under his very nose. Or a powerful ally. Unknown to the boy, he had long ago decided the only safe course of action was to marry Toshiro to his daughter, and his grandfather the king readily agreed. Ukitake had put off engagement offers, delaying a commitment until the princess was old enough for the match to be made, keeping the reasons vague for the boy's own safety.

Young Toshiro would make a fine prince-consort for the future queen, and add a priceless bloodline to his own. His little princess could be quite a handful, willful, smart, stubborn. The two had met several times, at the palace and at Ukitake's manor. Everyone was pleased by how well they got along, both of them able to blend in at court and often hiding or disappearing together to do more interesting things like gambling with the soldiers or scaling the walls to try to escape to the city. On country visits, the two would vanish right out from under the guard's noses, leaving the boy's little sister to throw a fit of jealousy while they ran around the countryside. Yes, the boy may have been the only one who could match his Karin's fiery spirit, on top of the more obvious gains from the match.

Now it seemed he would not gain the little lord's talents, after all. The thought had occurred to him almost immediately, that another family hoping to see their own son crowned had found out and eliminated the boy. He had gone to great lengths to maintain secrecy, but even the suspicion of a union could have been enough, particularly for a few foreign royals that had been pushing for betrothal. He had all such families investigated first, and so far, he could not pin the guilt on any of them.

His carriage pulled to a halt, the constant noise of travel flaring as orders were called, people, horses, and luggage started to sort themselves out, and attendants rushed to ensure that nobility was not terribly inconvenienced in the chaos. He did not have long to wait before the carriage door was open, a step placed, and then he was hiding the aches and pains of idleness as he stretched long legs and drew in fresh air.

The gathered soldiers and servants, turned out to acknowledge the rank of the guest, all had the same sad yet hopeful look, and he held back a grimace. If he could fix this, he would. But he knew the chances were exceedingly slim. Ukitake knew it, too, the only hope in his bruised and bloodshot eyes was for comfort, not a miracle. Still, the smiles exchanged were genuine, the words of welcome and thanks heartfelt, and they got through the ceremony with a minimum of fuss due to the mourning of the household.

Once inside, Shunsui wasted no time waving away servants and attendants to go do whatever it was that they did, and followed his friend into his private study. Instantly his arms were full, his head bent over the white hair as sobs were muffled in the crook of his neck, his hands holding and rubbing the shaking back while long, fine fingers clutched at him. He just held on and waited, knowing his friend had no one else to show a moment of weakness to.

The little lord had really meant a lot to Juushiro. The man would never remarry, having done his duty and been crushed by it. An adopted daughter helped fill the massive heart, but the boy had truly saved his uncle. The two had grown as close as any parent and child, active minds filled with inquisitiveness, intelligence, compassion, the solace of recognizing not just kin, but a kindred spirit. Shunsui knew this would not break his friend, but it would be one hell of a wound, perhaps the greatest one yet. With a series of painful gasps, the sobbing ended and the heartbroken man started to get himself under control. He moved his hand to stroke white hair.

"I'm sorry, Juushiro, that it took me so long to get here."

A few more sniffles and the hands let go of him, wiping at wet cheeks and reddened eyes. He wanted to kiss those tears away, to hold tight and to make everything better. They had not been lovers for many years now. Each had known what duty demanded of them, and what their hearts held for one another had been great enough to survive, to become a friendship that defined them both.

"Don't be ridiculous. I'm just glad you are here now, even if there's no hope."

Ukitake was obviously exhausted as he sagged onto the divan. He helped himself to the alcohol set out near the desk before joining him. No doubt the lord and his entire staff, soldiers, townspeople, all would have scoured the countryside, broken into every abandoned building, explored every filthy cave, chased down every stranger that had passed through the district in the last month. It would not surprise him if no one had slept in this house for more than a few hours a night since the disappearance. And it had turned up nearly nothing, all leads running aground.

"I won't lie to you, not that you would believe me if I did. The chances of getting Toshiro back are small, and getting smaller every day. I had hoped for a ransom demand, or news from another court of a hostage. Whoever took him, and I do not believe the boy ran or was accidentally killed, they must have a purpose and the power to see it through. He may still alive, Juushiro."

"And isn't that the worst of it?"

He needed no elaboration. What sleep his friend could get was likely tormented with nightmares of what his darling nephew might be facing.

"I sent out the Visored. Half of them, anyway. If anyone can figure out what happened, they can."

The tear-filled eyes focused on him, startled.

"Shunsui, you can't."

"Has no one ever told you that you never tell royalty what they can or cannot do? And I have already done it, they left three days ago. I would have given the order sooner, but it took a little convincing to get Yama-jii to agree. Even if your family is exiled and unclaimed, this could still become a doplomatic problem for the crown. Not that I need such a justification to try to help you."

He pulled the snowy head to lean against his shoulder, wrapping an arm around the willowy torso. It was the only thing he could do, provide some comfort, a small safe harbor in the tempest. Juushiro would try to act strong, hell, his friend was the strongest person he knew, but everyone needed to break sometimes.

oooooooooooOOOOOOOOOOoooooooooo

She had taken to sleeping in Toshiro's room. The first night, she couldn't sleep at all, could only huddle in a little ball and weep. So, sometime after midnight, she had crept down the hall and curled up around his pillow. Everything still smelled of him, the clean scent of mint and tea and the outdoors. She went back to her room by dawn, but the next night spent longer in his room. Her father found her there after a few nights of this, and encouraged her to stop but did not force it. After that, she slept in the room that smelled less and less like Toshiro with each passing night.

"Come now, Momo. It's okay to be sad, but life continues. I want you to come with me today. There is a list of things I need you to get while I meet with the town council. It's a market day, and the fresh air will do us both some good."

"Life continues for us, but not for Shiro-chan. Is that what you mean, father? You're saying he's dead?"

Her words were sharp and angry, and she knew it hurt him. She was sick of being treated like a little girl. Her father wouldn't tell her the truth, he met with guards and hired mercenaries, rode out to search, and told her placating lies.

"Of course not, honey. We're doing everything we can to find him, you know that."

"No, I don't know that or anything. Why won't you let me help? I can ride, I can ask questions, I know him better than anyone!"

She knew what he would say. It was not the first time she had made the demand, and the answer was always the same.

"Momo, I can't risk losing you, too. We can go into town, you can ask anything you want there. But I am not sending you out with a search party and that is final."

She had tried all kinds of answers to that, throwing a tantrum, silently and pathetically crying, reasoning, silence, puppy eyes, nothing worked. She was 14. Soon, she would be old enough to get married and become the lady of her own house, thanks to the generosity of her adoptive father. But not old enough, apparently, to search the countryside surrounded by a battalion of guards. Even that logic had met a stone wall.

The visit of Prince Shunsui had given her a moment's hope. She had hidden nearby and listened to their conversations, shocked by the tone of despair in her father's voice that she had never heard before. It had been more than 2 weeks since she had run home, leaving him to trail along after her. She had taken the berries to the cook, who had promised a fresh pie for dinner, and had run back to the courtyard, expecting Toshiro to be strolling in.

The rational part of her knew that she could not have stopped whatever had happened. Yes, she could hold a sword and had received proper training with knives and other weapons, but if someone beat Toshiro, then they would have found her no challenge at all. Still, at night she could not stop asking herself if it was her fault. What if it had been something simple? What if he had seen something and gone down to the river bank? What if he had fallen in and she could have pulled him out? What if he simply twisted his ankle, and some bandit had come along when she could have helped him get home? What if . . . what if.

"Okay. I'll go to the market with you. I need some new thread, anyway."

White brows rose in pleased surprise. She didn't feel at all guilty for being a bit deceptive. And she had agreed to go out, so he could be as pleased as he liked.

Momo loved her father, truly. No one would have expected the local lord to take in the toddler, the only survivor of a house fire, a stupid accident that had killed her parents, grandmother, and two siblings. The village would have provided for her, a good family would have raised her. Instead, she was raised in luxury, given opportunities she never would have had, and even given a brother.

Not that she ever called Shiro her brother, or her cousin. They were not related, after all. He was 15, heir to two lords, and not betrothed. She knew why. Her father must have planned it all along, and was only waiting for her to be old enough to marry the two of them. It was all she had dreamed about for the past couple of years. Toshiro was kind, and funny, and brave, and everything anyone would want in a husband. She was a good match for him, too. He had many who would call him a friend, but he let no one very close except for her. She was sure he loved her, maybe not as strongly, but more than he loved anyone else. They would be so happy together! Or, they would have been.

All this she thought through as she got ready and as they made the short trip to town. Her father looked slightly rested for the first time in weeks, and she tried to be happy for him instead of resenting it. He might give up, and she supposed most would after two weeks with no leads. She would not.

After quickly getting all the things on the list, and the thread she had told him she wanted, she went to find the man she really came to town to see. She hurried to the outskirts of town, to where the wide road became clear of shops and the houses were spread farther and farther apart. An odd house, everything oversized with a wide gate, a massive door, high roof, everything completely normal, just too big. She did not bother to knock, knowing where the homeowner would be on a pleasant day like this. She trotted around the house to the large garden, almost a small farm, and sighed in relief seeing the massive figure kneeling on a wide pathway, huge hands carefully plucking tiny weeds from between rows of vegetables.

"Jidanbo-san! Good morning!"

The big man, much taller than any grown man, in fact, taller than a tall man standing on another's shoulders, turned without rising, and a large smile split his very large face. Toshiro had introduced her to the man. She had heard stories, seen him from a distance, but never would have had the courage to approach him. He was the giant of every fairy tale, and giants were not known to befriend tiny girls. Add to that his renown, retired from the king's own guard where he had a fearsome reputation, and she had hoped never to meet the muscle-bound colossus.

The first few weeks Toshiro had come to live with them, he had stayed at home, quiet though she heard the nightmares, the stifled sobbing, the consoling voice of her father. Then he had set foot outside, and transformed. She had trouble getting to know Toshiro, because he was always gone, always busy first in town, then in the surrounding villages and wilderness. So, she had started following him.

And this was one of the first places she found herself, staring in amazement at the diminutive white-haired boy sitting on his heels in this very garden, painstakingly picking aphids off leaves, neck craned down to his task, then up to talk to the monster who turned out to be gentle and kind. Toshiro visited often, never lagging in his friendship over the years. Momo didn't always join him here, the two disparate males had their own unique comradery. Not to mention watching the two tend the garden for hours in silence broken only by discussing plants, soil and the weather got boring really quickly.

"Ah, Momo-chan, welcome."

The man carefully moved his bulky frame to sit in the path between the rows. She reached into her basket and pulled out a loaf of sweet cinnamon bread, almost as big around as she was and still warm. He took it with a smile, the loaf barely a two bite treat, and something of a traditional gift by now. She was anxious to ask her questions, but she knew he appreciated the small courtesies.

"The garden is looking very healthy this year."

"We've had good weather for it. But the plants miss Toshiro-kun. The watermelons are almost ready to harvest, and I will have too many without him to help me enjoy them. Have you brought me news?"

She was relieved that he had moved on so quickly.

"Not much, I'm afraid. Father doesn't tell me everything. But Prince Shunsui was here, did you know?"

"Yes, he did come to see me. We had a very pleasant tea."

That was what she had been hoping. The prince usually spent some time with the former elite soldier. Toshiro had told her that very little happened in the realm without Jidanbo knowing of it. He suspected the man was still in the king's employ, and placed here to watch over her father.

"He told father that he sent the Visored to look for Toshiro."

The lack of surprise on his face was expected. Her father had sounded shocked when the prince told him, but she didn't know why. She had never heard of a Visored, and hadn't been able to find any mention of the word in the library. And that is why she came to the royal guardsman. But she knew he would keep it a secret, too, unless he thought she already knew. So, she used what little she had heard from eavesdropping, used the prince's own words and hoped it would be enough.

"I hope that helps, the prince said the Visored were sent two weeks ago. Wouldn't we have heard something by now? I mean, the Visored should be able to figure it out, right?"

"We should not speak of such things, Momo-chan."

Dammit, she was going to hit another brick wall.

"The king's Visored are a secret force, even few of the nobility are aware of them. But you should take hope from the news.

They are the strongest fighters, the smartest, with unique skills."

"But, Jidanbo, it's been two weeks. Even father is starting to lose hope." It wasn't hard to let her voice quiver, to let tears gather in her eyes. "They won't find anything, no one will. He's gone, he's never coming home."

"There, there, little one." In other circumstances, the gentle pat from the hand as big as she was would have scared the living daylights out of her. "Don't give up yet. The best of them, Hirako, went to Las Noches. He and the prince both think there's a good chance he'll find Toshiro-kun there. But it's very far away. Even travelling fast, he will not have arrived by now. Be patient, and word will come."

She made a show of sniffling and forcing a small smile. It was a good thing the big man was not the suspicious type, or perhaps not very bright. Or maybe Toshiro's cunning ways of getting information out of people had taught her a few things. Now it was just a matter of timing, the sooner the better. She already had what she needed, not packed where it could be discovered, but gathered in a drawer and ready. Plenty of money, jewelry and gold to trade once she was far from Seireitei. She knew the two fastest horses in the stable and had the means to buy more along the way. She would prove her father wrong for underestimating her, and she would be the one to get her Shiro-chan back.

oooooooooooOOOOOOOOOOoooooooooo

They were all the same, the world over. Even the lowest, poorest metropolis had its high ground. Wider, cleaner streets free from litter and sewage both literal and figurative, the beggars chased away, the madmen beaten into silence, the prostitutes dressed in finery and locked into luxurious suites. Even the most prosperous, thriving city had its filthy gutters. Dingy alleys and dark dead-ends where cutthroats lurked and the homeless turned slowly into corpses, decaying buildings where the destitute and desperate huddled, waiting to be preyed upon by those with no scruples, no morals.

In between these extremes was life. The families and workers that held the ship of state afloat, often to their own detriment, went about their business either unaware or deliberately blind to the injustices above and below. After all, they were the majority, the good folk of their fair city, and they were busy, what with children, committees, market days, community improvements, far too busy to take heed of the festering underbelly or the gleaming crown. Other than to _tsk_ , shake their heads, and wave their flags, that is. Oh, and stay abreast of the latest gossip. One must know, after all, which neighbor's uncle was murdered due to debts for gambling and drugs. One must know, surely, which neighbor's nephew would be standing guard at the new prince's upcoming wedding. These are the things one must know to be a responsible and productive citizen.

Most of his fellows openly despised cities, and this one above all. Perhaps Rukongai was more hated, by virtue of its massive size, a conglomeration of souls so numerous stacked on top of each other so densely that it was a wonder the great hive of humanity had not collapsed in on itself, leaving nothing but a bottomless, stinking crater in the earth.

Still, Las Noches ran a close second in the eyes of many. Not his. True, never was there a city so stark in the separation of the haves and the have-nots. Built by and standing firmly on the broken backs of peasants and slaves, the capital of the desert was not one city, but several. In some cases, the walls separating classes were real, high brick structures patrolled and unyielding. In other cases, the walls were less visible and more vicious, crossed at great peril and often costing life or freedom.

To Shinji, this vicious gathering place of the oppressed and the oppressors was like a vast maze, a labyrinth housing horrors and delights for any brave enough to try its winding paths. And so, when the order came to search the courts of the world he exerted his rank to secure Las Noches for himself, and set out in eagerness for the empty dunes and blood-soaked thoroughfares he had visited long ago and never quite gotten out of his mind.

It helped that there was a fair chance that the truth could be found here. Not many had the power and resources to casually snatch a noble and make him vanish as if he never existed, leaving no clues behind. To do so with no obvious reward, no obvious motivation, no recompense, well, that took more than power and nerve. It took a certain lack of respect, a complete disregard for rights and for consequences. Hueco Mundo was not the only kingdom full of devil-may-care villains, but it was the biggest and the boldest.

What anyone could gain from one scrawny brat was a mystery he had not been able to solve, though he did have his suspicions as leads. If he knew that answer, finding the culprit would be easy. The kid's link to royalty was not valuable, family disowned from the crown of Reiokyu, only loosely bound to the crown of Seireitei. No claim had been made against the estate, the kid being heir to both his father and his uncle. The briefing said the kid was smart, but not privy to any state secrets.

So, if the kid was here in Hueco Mundo, that only left personal motives. He had seen the boy. While he didn't get off on that sort of thing, he was aware that many found the unusual looking kid attractive. And there was something about that family that drew the eye, the mind, and the heart. Many had set their sights on the boy's uncle, and even more on his mother. But to go to such lengths for simple lust?

What he had to go on was a hunch. If he was right, then either the boy was snatched by one lucky opportunist, or this had been carefully planned, well-funded, and flawlessly executed. That meant professionals, not unlike himself. He had already tapped Seireitei's operatives here, started to gather information on the nobility who could accomplish this, and the guards or mercenaries they might use. And here he sat in the city of criminals working on collecting rumors from the good and dutiful citizens, finding out which connections were worth forming, learning which informants were worth paying. It would take time, it would take cunning, it might take a few discreet murders.

Shinji gave the hostess of the boarding house a wide smile and gestured for seconds of the delicious meal she had prepared. The woman blushed and simpered at the praise and hurried over to refill his plate and refill his ear with stories her daughter, a waiting woman to a very wealthy mistress, mind you, had told her on her last visit home. He might vomit later. He smiled again as he raised his fork and nodded encouragement of her tale.

It was just a matter of time and the right connections. No one could keep a secret indefinitely, and more than one person had to have been involved. Somewhere in this fascinating viper's nest a mouth would open, another would repeat, and word of a foreign boy with a unique appearance would spread.


	16. Tomorrow is Today's Dream

.

 **Chapter 16**

 **Tomorrow is Today's Dream**

 _The timeless in you is aware of life's timelessness._

 _And knows that yesterday is but today's memory and tomorrow is today's dream_.

\- Kahlil Gabran

Discomfort woke him, a dull pain in his shoulder and sharp tingling all down his left arm. It was still hard to force his eyes open, shifting a few times to try to relieve the ache without fully waking. It was so warm and pleasant other than that one spot. He managed to turn a bit, toward lying on his stomach, and the tingling lessened. But the damage had been done, and he blinked as a wide yawn overtook him.

Turning had brought him even closer to source of the heat, hard and soft at the same time, somehow fitted perfectly with his stretched-out body. His head rested not on a pillow, but on the yielding part of the tanned chest, just under the bones of the shoulder. He was snug up against his owner's resting body, right arm draped over him. In fact, his arm, shoulder, a good half of him was either pressed tight to the lean side or curved on top so that his entire body was moving gently in time with the prince's breaths.

Allowing the panic, the questioning, the impulse to scramble away, allowing all that to swell and recede in his mind, he stayed still. Not that he would have much choice, a long arm wound around his back, large hand loose over his waist, and the man's chin was resting on top of his head, a faint rippling of his hair with every breath. It would take him some time, he knew, to control or overcome these reactions. He must be careful not to let them show, not when he had achieved so much.

At least, he thought he had. His owner seemed pleased, so far. It was too soon to tell if he was succeeding in winning some trust, some value that might ease his life and one day lead to freedom, or at least to not being a chained dog. Giving the man physical pleasure had been his greatest fear, but after tonight, he could no longer say it was entirely a hateful prospect. If it were only what they had already done together, he wouldn't fear anything at all. He would never have expected to enjoy such things, in such a terrible situation. Who was to say that he would not find enjoyment in what he knew would come? Sex between two men, which seemed like it would be nothing but pain, could not be that painful, that shameful. Else no one would submit to it.

Calmed, he became aware again just how incredibly comfortable he was. It was soothing to his tired body, the warmth, the gentle motion reminiscent of quietly rocking waves, the scent of clove, sweat, sex. He took a moment to consider the smooth skin he was more or less wrapped around. He moved his fingers cautiously, feeling the steel beneath velvet, the tightly striated layer of muscle just below the ribs. Just in front of his eyes he could count three scars, one short and faded, one long and very white, one a deep pucker in the skin as a knife point or arrow might cause. A warrior's body, accustomed to long hours of training and fighting. Killing.

It had only been two nights and one day, and already his perceptions had altered. All he had expected was a brutal killer, if not mindless, then so full of cunning and savagery that Toshiro would not relate to anything about the man. Rangiku and Yumichika had given him reason to think of more, of a human side at least. Then there were little things, the way he spoke tenderly of his mother and her stories, the smile that held no darkness and seemingly no deception, the ecstasy he delivered, even the frightening menace he had shown to the healer had been caused by concern for Toshiro. Concern just for the potential ruin of a toy? He didn't think so.

Only then did he start to feel the cold, on the parts of him that weren't pressed to the warm flesh, that was. The desert was surprisingly chilly at night, and the black beyond the curtains of the bed told him there was still plenty of night left to freeze in. Trying not to move his head and risk waking the slumbering man, he carefully lifted his hand, pleased that his body cooperated, fingers picking up and moving the fine chain, and pulled the thin robe back around him as best he could, the silken cloth tangled and tucked in under him. He reached, trying and failing to grasp the blankets covering only his foot and the lower part of the longer legs. Shifting himself a bit, he made another attempt and then froze when he heard a voice. The man's muscles hadn't even tensed, giving no indication that he was awake.

"Are you cold, pet?"

Not waiting for an answer, the arm not wrapped around him moved, the muscles beneath him bunched and his head was lifted slightly as the prince snagged the edge of sheet and blanket, pulling them up. Toshiro barely breathed until the fabric settled over him, the hand tucking the blanket over his shoulder and then burrowing under the covers. He felt the kiss placed on top of his head, and the man settled back in the same position.

He willed himself to relax, heart racing. Hesitating only a moment, he returned his arm to its former place of warmth and serenity, fingers curling between soft sheet and softer skin. He leaned in even closer, getting the weight off of his left arm by putting more weight on his human pillow. It would get easier, he told himself. It had been easy enough to give in to sexual gratification. It would seemingly take a little longer to stop jumping every time his owner moved, to give in to simple comfort.

His eyes sought the slivers of night sky, deeper black against the darkness. So bright, the stars in this strange place. They seemed closer than at home, like you could almost reach and touch them. His uncle would love these skies. He used to count shooting stars while the learned lord told him and Momo stories of the constellations, the three sharing a blanket on the riverbank, or sometimes lying on the roof of the manor. He allowed the nostalgia, but brutally shut off any sorrow, any thought that he would never share such moments with family again. At least he could see the stars, and have fond memories, and warmth, and the hope that he had thought lost, that each tomorrow would be better than today.

ooooooooooOOOOOOOOOOoooooooooo

Knocking startled him awake, his arm automatically tightening around the equally alarmed man partly beside and partly on top of him. The light said it wasn't yet dawn, just a bit less than dark, too early to have to get up. He was still asleep, he only had to close his eyes.

"Come in."

"It's locked, genius."

Way too early for Renji.

"What," he barked angrily at the door, feeling a little jolt as his pet reacted. His smiled reassuringly at the wide, lovely eyes that had swung back in his direction at his shout.

"Early start. You're due at the stables after breakfast, remember?"

Right. It was still too early, but best to be early when the king's expecting you. If he ended up waiting on his father, much better than the alternative. Aizen Sosuke was not a patient man, and not even his son, especially not his son, would be forgiven for wasting his time.

"Ten minutes."

Faint grumbling from the hallway which he ignored. Reluctantly, he let go of the small body that had cuddled up to him so close and stayed even closer throughout the night. No matter what else the boy was, his initial judgment had been correct; his gift would make a fantastic bed partner. Before his pet could scoot too far away, he brought his hand up to the pale cheek and was pleased that the boy stopped, propped up on one arm, eyes on his again, cautious but not afraid. And when he leaned closer, those lips did not retreat from his.

He kept the kiss light, feeling the soft lips respond as he moved his mouth gently. A quick learner, this one, grabbing gently at his skin, eyes barely open, head moving a little closer. He broke away before it could become too heated. The wet, parted lips and the slowly widening eyes were too tempting. He could accomplish much in the 10 minutes he had given himself, but he knew rushing would be a mistake, especially after his pet responded so wonderfully.

"I had intended to wake early enough to enjoy you again this morning, darling Toshiro. But it seems I was too comfortable sleeping in your arms."

The pale cheeks flushed as the boy looked down and to the side, away from his caressing hand. Shyness was cute enough, but he greatly preferred the nerve it must have taken for his pet to respond.

"I . . . I have to say I slept well, too . . . master."

His hand slid to the white hair, and he smiled as he ran his fingers through the soft locks, disheveled and sexy in the pale morning light. He had a lot to look forward to today, and a lot to accomplish. It was a shame that he didn't have more time to spend with this beauty before his attention would be further divided. For his bride would arrive late this morning, and tonight would be the last night he could sleep in this bed for a while. He would still visit when he could during the day, of course, but between settling in a wife and the coming raid, he would not be as free as he would like. Terrible timing, really, though he had made a good deal more progress than expected.

One more kiss, just a peck on the blushing cheek, and he moved to get out of bed and on with the day. He stretched as he stood, then turned back and paused. Knowing it may be a small blow to the boy's pride, he still could not help but chuckle. The blush had intensified, cheeks, ears, even neck bright red as Toshiro leaned away from him, looking down, eyes darting toward him and away again.

"Really, sweetheart, take your time and look. I certainly don't mind."

A sucked in breath led to rough coughing, and again the adorable embarrassment gave way to a more adorable, far more attractive bravery as the boy steadied himself and skipped right over longer glances to boldly stare. Once more, he wondered what kind of society his pet grew up in. Even if he was sheltered as Gin had implied, not being accustomed to a naked man, reacting like that after waking on top of that naked man . . . what a mystery his little pet's mind was.

"I will return later today with a surprise for you."

He started toward the door leading to his rooms, then stopped as he heard a hasty voice.

"Master, please, may I ask you a question?"

"You can always ask, pet, when it is just the two of us. I will tell you if you overstep, but I will not be angry about any honest question."

The beautiful eyes blinked at that and grew thoughtful. The question came slowly, as if his words had made the boy more fearful when he had meant to reassure.

"The other man, Hanataro. Am I permitted to speak to him? I did, only a little, when I needed something."

Surprised, he thought it worth taking a moment to make sure they were understanding one another. He had been quite pleased when he found out his pet didn't whine and cry, threaten, or try to trick the healer's apprentice. But he hadn't realized Toshiro had taken caution so far, or was it fear? He sat back down on the edge of the bed, turned to look into the carefully expressionless face.

"You are a slave of the royal house," he noted the flinch, "and you are a human being. Moreover, you belong to the prince of Hueco Mundo. Speak to who you will about what you will. Speak out of turn, and you should accept the consequences like a man of your rank. Do you understand?"

"No. Master, how can I know what is out of turn and what is acceptable? I don't understand what you mean by rank. I'm a slave, doesn't that mean I have no rank, no will but yours?"

It was his turn to blink in amazement.

"Well, shit. We aren't speaking the same language at all, are we? I can't stay, but I promise you now that I will take your ignorance of our customs into consideration if you make any mistakes. As for Hanataro, he's here to obey me and to serve you. Talk to him, ask him for anything you wish, and it is in his hands to decide if he should answer or do as you ask. We'll talk more about this when I have more time. Will that do, for now?"

If possible, his pet looked even more confused, but he took the nod at face value. It wasn't like the boy would be in contact with anyone potentially dangerous today. He made note to fit in one more task to an already busy schedule. Gin was the one who found his special present in some faraway wonderland of pretty, innocent youths who sail the seas and play in dark forests. Perhaps he could shed some light on what the boy understood about his position, and what he so obviously did not.

ooooooooooOOOOOOOOOOoooooooooo

"I still don't think it's right. You're going to be the queen of this dump, Orihime. There should be music, and flowers, and people cheering."

She sighed. The first dozen or so times her friend had complained, she had smiled and tried to cheer her up. Now, she just wanted to sit and look. She had enough things to worry about without constantly trying to reason with the stubborn girl. Tatsuki seemed determined to find fault with everything, and she simply couldn't allow herself to do the same.

It made sense to her, entering the city without pomp, and not raising attention. She had the rest of her life for regal parades, and it was nice to be able to look out of the carriage windows and see the desert capital without a dozen guards and a crowd of flag-waving strangers blocking her view. Her memories of her real home were faint, the entire village destroyed when she was 5. Since then, she had been living with the largest and fiercest of the many semi-nomadic desert tribes, the very tribe which had burned her village, killing or enslaving everyone she would have called friends and family had she been a little older. Two of their camps had permanent structures, including a large stone house for the chief's family. She supposed those were the closest thing she knew to home.

"It's very grand, isn't it?"

Her friend may have called Las Noches a dump, but her brown eyes were wide as she watched out the window, giving her away. And this was not a wealthy area, not the poorest, just an average district of homes and shops just inside the city walls. The smallest buildings here looked more solid and well kept than the palaces of the Kenpachi, though she knew the rough rock abodes had stood up to the desert for hundreds of years.

"Grand?" She drew in a breath for another sigh at the sarcastic tone of voice. "Well . . . I suppose. Strange, though."

At that, she smiled at her friend and looked back out the window. She was surprised when Tatsuki agreed to come with her as her 'lady-in-waiting,' a concept foreign to the desert tribesmen. The girl was nervous. The city was vast already, and they were not even within sight of the center. Yet somehow, this place made tribesmen claustrophobic, jumpy, angry. Even her guardian had complained about it, comparing the city dwellers to animals in traps, lions on display for so long they had lost their teeth and claws.

"They say you can buy anything here, even books from other kingdoms. And caravans of traders come from so far away that they can't even be understood, to trade for glass, crystal, and spices. The central market is as big as most villages, with fruits, jewelry, and cloth from all over the world."

She only hoped her new status as a married woman, the wife of the prince, would allow her enough freedom to see these wonders. Her guardian had kept her like a fragile glass figurine. Other women rode, hunted, fought if they wished. She was covered head to toe to protect her skin, taught to ride only the most placid of horses, and given cursory training in handling knives but no other weapons.

It was a lonely life, though in many ways she was both guilt-ridden and thankful for that. She had seen what women taken in raids normally went through. The only time she saw men was when they traveled, and the guards would not speak to her, would barely look in her direction. Tatsuki was the only girl her own age that kept her company, the others were older women, past the age of bearing children or fighting. And the slaves, of course, women with learning brought to teach her the skills needed to be the wife of a chief, or of a prince.

Her friend had fallen silent, and she pushed aside her own worries, trying to stay optimistic as always. She knew little of the man who would be her husband by tomorrow evening, other than his reputation as a strong fighter. Her guardian had told her she would be pleased, that the prince was a pretty-boy but still had the teeth of a lion. That did not reassure her. Still, she had been taught from a young age, instructed to be meek and accepting. Wife to a pretty young prince was better than being sold to an ally tribe, to be added to the harem of another like her guardian. Surely, it was better.

The carriage leaned into a turn, passed through a stone tunnel, and emerged into a new district. Slightly paler stone, wider streets, shops brighter, homes decorated with a few plants and baubles. The children were cleaner, better dressed, the women walked freely without cringing. Her mood lightened a little more.

This sudden change occurred several more times. Sometimes a wall, sometimes a checkpoint, always a clear dividing line between one cobblestone and the next. Placing her head close to the window, she could look back, and down. The city spread below them now as they climber higher, and she could see those dividing lines, like the city was a patchwork quilt of mismatched squares.

Tatsuki's tone had changed, too. They both pointed out fancy shops, grand buildings, wide parks with greenery and even water. Curious children waved back. Fierce soldiers and men just as strong looking walked the streets, stepping aside for ladies in bright colors, many carrying just as serviceable weapons as the men. It was still the desert, after all, just wrapped in finery.

Suddenly, the carriage made a sharp turn and a few seconds later rocked to a halt. Quickly, she pulled on the fine gloves while Tasuki moved beside her and brought the veil back over her head to fall and cover her face. They finished just in time, hearing the gruff voice of her guardian barking orders at the guards. They both were calm and composed by the time the door swung open, revealing the scarred and craggy face of the Kenpachi.

"Well, c'mon girl. Can't have my little princess arrive in this dirty old wagon."

She followed Tatsuki out, lowering her eyes and standing straight and quiet while luggage was dusted off and moved to a fine carriage, lacquered black with golden scrollwork and a team of six of the largest horses she'd ever seen, massive blood bay beasts with shining coats and polished hooves. She longed to rush forward, to stroke those soft noses and admire the gentle power so unique to equines.

Other beautiful horses stood ready, more typical of the small, strong horses the tribe used in the desert sands. The guards were brushing off the dirt of travel and remounting, new guards standing ready to make a proper procession for the prince's bride. She would have laughed, but held her tongue, held her hands demurely in front of her, held her head high in pride and eyes down in obedience until an impatient wave of her guardian's hand had Tatsuki leading the way to the new carriage.

Her guardian followed, closing the door and lifting the step. She did not look at him, and was cheered to think she may never see him again after tomorrow. She settled on the cushioned seat, smoothing the thick silk of her dress, white and gold with red flowers. Funny, one of the only things she knew about the prince was that he liked the color red. What an odd thing to know when she didn't even know his face.

"And keep the veil on, girl. Don't want the prince thinkin' I raised a slut."

"That doesn't even make sense," Tasuki hissed when the big man was safely away and the carriage started to move. "Do you see anyone wearing a veil around here? Hell, these are noblewomen and they dress like I do, in as little as possible."

She didn't respond, too used to this to think anything of it. His little princess, indeed. The desert tribes never bought into the ideas of cities or royalty. Kenpachi was a title, earned by the greatest chief in the desert and kept at swordpoint. There was no security for her guardian, no throne and crown to grant him authority in old age or to pass down to his sons. This was his power play, to link himself to the royalty of Las Noches, the power and security of being the future king's father-in-law.

She wondered sometimes if this had been the plan all along, or a fortunate accident. He had seen a pretty little girl with long hair the color of sunset and claimed her as spoils of war. He had raised her to be a lady, not to keep for himself, but to sell her off. But had her guardian ever imagined he would snag a prince? What things he would gain through her she could only guess.

A final wall, and the closed curtains barely gave her glimpses of the fine manors, most behind their own high walls but with stories and peaked roofs nearly blocking the sky. Trees, not abundant but scattered in yards and even lining the streets. And here, finally, the cheering crowd Tatsuki had insisted she deserved for no other reason than being raised and sold to a man of influence.

She settled back, not wanting to be caught peeking between curtains, and did what one of the old crones brought in to instruct her had taught. The woman claimed to have been royalty herself, a daughter married off to a lord who fell to the armies of Hueco Mundo. She removed her glove, and rested her hand outside the curtain on the thin edge of the window. White skin, gilded nails, and the bright emerald, the stone reserved for the royal family, surrounded by diamonds shining on her finger. She giggled a little when the crowd cheered louder as her hand appeared, not believing such silly things actually worked.

Tatsuki stared at her, eyes wide, and she giggled again. Then they were both grinning and laughing, she careful to hold her exposed hand still and regally dignified, her friend practically bouncing in time with the movement of the carriage. She was afraid, so very afraid, about to meet the man who would be her lord for the rest of her life. But she was also excited, the world paused, full for one moment with enormous and endless possibilities. Two teenage girls, on their way to meet Prince Charming. That Prince Bloodthirsty Maniac was more likely was a fact stubbornly ignored for one happy moment. At least, until the crowd grew hushed and the carriage slowed and they knew it was time.

Drawing in a deep breath, slowly drawing in her hand and replacing the glove, she stared at her only friend and her only friend stared back. Then the door swung open once more and Tatsuki gave her a grin of encouragement, staying back this time for Orihime to exit first. Composing herself for another moment, she raised herself and reached to take the offered hand of her guardian and stepped down. Immediately, she assumed the pose she had been taught, finding some comfort in familiarity, and walked forward with eyes lowered, glad of the veil which allowed her to see but hid her a little from the world.

Her steps carefully graceful, thankful her guardian didn't tug her along like usual as they ascended many stone steps before stopping. She stood straight, the old tribes refused to bow or curtsy or even bend down their heads, king or not. Words were exchanged, and she only half paid attention as the king complimented her, and her guardian responded on her behalf. The big, battle scarred hands of the desert warrior lifted away her wispy layer of protection. Her eyes were focused on a pair of black boots, clean and polished but with signs of real use. Just visible without lifting her eyes, the hems of black trousers, close fit over the leather.

Then those boots moved, and a younger voice spoke, calm and even. The voice of the man she would marry tomorrow, the man she would give her virginity to tomorrow.

"Orihime."

A large hand appeared in her line of vision, palm up, fingers stretched out toward her. Without even thinking, she raised her right hand and let the long fingers wrap lightly around the white glove. Reminding herself not to flinch or otherwise overreact if he was hideous or cruel looking, she looked up to meet brown eyes, calculating but not unkind, a gentle smile. He was handsome, a serious face caught in a moment of ease, odd hair, not unlike hers. Her own lips raised in the polite smile she had been coached to use, practiced for hours and hours, and the prince cocked his head just a bit to the side. Somehow, the small gesture took all the hardness out of his face, the coldness out of his eyes, further lightened by the smile that widened into stunning brilliance as she felt her heart flutter.

"Welcome to Las Noches."

She had been so scared of this, so excited, and absolutely terrified. But now, as her smile changed to something new, something tentatively hopeful, she dared to think that her life may have just been saved, salvaged. This morning she had been an object of worth, but without identity. Tomorrow, she would be the wife of a prince who held her hand gently and searched her eyes as if looking for the real Orihime. Tomorrow, maybe, her life could begin.


	17. Reality

.

 **Chapter 17**

 **Reality**

 _Hope in reality is the worst of all evils because it prolongs the torment of man. ~Friedrich Neitzsche_

It was possible he had underestimated Hanataro. The young man wasn't simple or stupid. What he was, Toshiro wasn't sure. He had spent the morning testing limits. Feeding himself, going to the bathroom alone, even bathing he was allowed to do with minimal assistance. He had also been watched but not stopped as he got in some basic exercise, though not much as he found his body still wasn't over the drug that made him become uncoordinated and dizzy after a few minutes. After the brand and the cut were cleaned and treated, he was permitted to select clothing and dress properly, pleased to find that the wardrobe Gin had provided was still with him. And he had convinced Hanataro to move a chair close to the edge of the bed so that he had a place to sit rather than stay in bed all day.

The chains were what made moving the chair necessary, and they were not negotiable. The man stuttered a bit yet insisted in his timid way. He was sure he could refuse, and Hanataro would not be able to do anything about it. But the prince's words came back to him, that it would be in Hanataro's hands to decide what was allowed. He wasn't sure that the prince would punish him for refusing the chains, and he would not put that punishment on this boy simply because he was kind or too easy to push around.

Thus, he sat, one chained hand supporting his chin, elbow on the armrest, gaze turned toward the windows. They were too narrow for him to even think of climbing through, and too high to see anything but a strip of deep blue. One of Hanataro's medical books was open on his knee, but he hadn't absorbed the few pages he'd read, mind elsewhere. The healer's apprentice sat at the desk on the other side of the room, studying a larger tome.

"Hanataro."

Engrossed in the text, the man forgot to jump or sound startled at all. Toshiro again thought that there might be more to his companion than met the eye.

"Yes?"

"Can you get me books? I mean, other than medical books?"

"Um . . . yes, I guess. I can use the royal library. They won't let me take some of the books out, but I can ask. What kind are you wanting?"

"I was hoping you could bring me something on customs and culture here. Or recent histories. Any history, really."

"That's a good idea! You want to learn more about Hueco Mundo, to fit in better?"

 _To survive_ , he thought but kept that to himself, instead just nodding at the enthusiastic youth. He was surprised when Hanataro got up to go run to the library right away but didn't stop him. He still hesitated to question the man, worried about what might be deemed unacceptable, and he had so many questions that needed answers. The sooner he had those books, the sooner he could set his mind at ease.

His eyes went back to the windows, and his worries went back to the brief conversation. It had all seemed clear to him at the start. He was a slave. No freedom, no opinions, no choices except what might be directly granted him by his master. His only power was to influence, perhaps, starting with elevating his role beyond a simple toy. But one question, a seemingly simple question of whether or not he was allowed to speak to a servant, and all his assumptions were undermined.

He did not know what to make of it, and every attempt to decipher the meaning behind the prince's response only left him more confused. He could only hope that the answer was hidden in plain sight, a misunderstanding of something so basic to the desert culture that no one had thought to explain it to him. Even if he did not find what he sought, he could learn about this place and his owner, perhaps preventing any more such occurrences. It had been awkward, and that had frustrated his owner. Frustration was not positive, would only make him seem like a burden.

The turning of the lock did not shake him out of his thoughts entirely. More time must have been lost in musing than he had realized.

"That was fast," he murmured absently. The door closed, lock snapping into place and all was silent for a moment.

"Well, I was in a hurry to return."

Not Hanataro's voice. He leapt to his feet, the heavy book dropping from his lap and hitting his bare left foot, a moment of pain to add to the sudden rush of startlement. The prince chuckled as he hopped on one foot, hand going to the chair arm to support himself. This was the second time the man walked in and caught him in undignified clumsiness, not typical and not the way he wished to be perceived. Thoughts and emotions jumbled, he glared at the snickering, orange-haired menace before he was further alarmed by his own actions. Showing anger! Definitely unwise, but it couldn't be taken back now.

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, stopped rubbing his foot and composed himself. Straightening, he opened his eyes and took in the sight of the amused face, a crooked smirk at his expense. Well, it was justified, and he would not allow any further embarrassment to show, even though he was absolutely mortified by the strange pleasure he felt at making the man smile, at the sight of him in his black and red finery, close-fitting pants, V-necked jacket with wide collar and turned up sleeves leaving muscular forearms bare.

"Welcome back, master."

Only a few long strides of those long legs and for the first time he was standing toe-to-toe with his owner, looking up, up. The prince was as tall as his uncle, or close enough. Only having his uncle stand this close was not intimidating, did not make his heart race. He would have stepped back, he tried, but would have fallen into the chair. A warm, rough hand on his left cheek gave him something else to focus on, regaining his balance again before the hand slid down his neck to the collar of his jacket.

After debating with himself, he had skipped over more comfortable clothing and chosen one of the formal ensembles, royal blue and silver with a black lining that showed at the turned back lapels and cuffs, black pants with silver accents. He had wanted to impress, and he was pleased with the results even though the loose collar style left a number of bruises visible on his neck and shoulders.

"You look splendid, pet. And you're fucking stunning when you're upset." The man leaned down, speaking close to his ear as the hand traveled down the open collar, fingers grazing his exposed breastbone.

"Is it any wonder I enjoy making you so . . . unsettled?"

Giving up on trying to sort out reactions and emotions, angry at being teased, but somehow flattered at the same time, he raised his hand, ignoring the trailing chain, and ran his fingers over the rich red silk covering the lean torso only inches in front of him. Was he truly attracted to this man? He couldn't deny it, as his eye followed his hand. He had met hundreds, thousands of people from all walks of life. Few drew his eye based on looks alone, and this prince was the only male to ever do so. Physically, his body told him the truth, a rush of desire when touched and touching. And he doubted he could feel this way if there was not some element of mental attraction as well.

"You are looking very fine, yourself, master."

He was shocked by his own words, by the purring tone of voice, and especially by the rough hands suddenly wrenching his head up, the intense eyes searching his own, mouth set in a thin frown and brows drawn together. Suppressing alarm, he tried to stay calm. Whatever he had done to make his owner angry, he could not correct it now. Perhaps he was not expected to show any desire, the man preferred him afraid? Or had he been too assertive, too vocal? He had thought the prince enjoyed it when he had pulled them together for their first real kiss last night, when he had wrapped his leg around the man's hips.

Uncertain again, he couldn't stop the little yelp, the instinctual push of his hands against the firm chest as he was yanked off his feet. The world spun, and his back hit the bed, making him wince at the flash of pain from his shoulder, before he registered more than a moment of fear. Then, lips on his, tongue pushing into his mouth, pushing out anything except excitement and immense relief that he had not seriously misstepped.

His eyes drifted shut, yielding effortlessly. So many sensations, so many sources of pleasure, and he was aware that these chaotic and euphoric events were conditioning him, successfully. Just being touched had him ready to cast aside all caution and pride; being kissed had him heating up, wanting more. And the knee between his legs, supporting the man's weight but also rubbing against him as his owner moved, well, that was just too arousing to even think about.

Deft fingers were already three buttons down on his jacket, quickly working lower, and he didn't mind in the least. Braving the prince's displeasure, sure that he was reading the situation better now, he did what he craved to do, bringing his hands up, twining in the surprising softness of the spikey hair. Another deep kiss followed, reinforcing his conclusion that his lover enjoyed these actions, and that meant he was allowed to have some will of his own, at least, as long as his will was to be agreeable.

That dizziness was beginning, the feeling of weightless world-turning wonder that had been promised and delivered by the same slick tongue that wound around his now. He did not realize that he had moved, had pushed himself closer to the knee pressed to his crotch, until the hands moved from the buttons of his pants, pausing to still his shamelessly flexing hips.

Was it supposed to be so fast? What he remembered of his feelings that day by the river, eagerness to touch and feel more of the girl's skin, but minutes of slow kissing and petting without this raging fire of need that made him want to skip all of this, straight to the blissful ending that he knew would come. His lover did not seem to mind, hands undoing his pants now, mouth breaking from his with shorter, hard kisses before moving to his neck, letting him gasp as his own hands slid down the silk-clad back. And it was barely a thought in the far distance of his hazy thoughts, how far would things go this time?

He was making little humming noises low with every exhale, the sucking warmth moving by small steps lower, neck, shoulder, collarbone, heading toward his chest and making him anticipate, long for that sensual contact. The faint sound of key and lock did not register, nor the slight creak of the door, making the high-pitched squeak all the louder and more startling. His eyes snapped open and he tried to sit up, hands moving to pull his jacket closed, both movements thwarted by the continued contact, the warm lips not surrendering his skin.

For one endless moment his head was raised enough to make eye contact, the wide blue eyes, the brick red face, then loud thumps of falling books and Hanataro turned and fled, door left half open for anyone to enter. He'd never be able to look the young man in the face again. He could only imagine, no, he didn't have to imagine. He glanced up at the mirror. Yep, sprawled, exposed, but at least Hanataro would have barely seen him, just the prince crouched like a predator devouring his kill while the victim moaned encouragement. Both arms covered his face as his head fell back, humiliated and certain his face was just as red as Hanataro's. He heard and felt the chuckle from the lips on his chest and failed to stop a snort of amusement at the absurdity of it all.

Where the entry of another person did not make the prince pause, the noise Toshiro made caused the orange head to rise. The hands which had finished undoing all fastenings slid up his stomach, up his chest, gently tugged his arms away from his face. He knew his face showed embarrassment, despite his vow to give up such a worthless emotion. He also knew he was fighting a smile, a smirk at the very least, the look on the young healer's face too ridiculously funny. The thought of himself in this position, and the fact that he barely cared anymore, he could only wonder at his own amusement. And as he looked at the bright grin above he couldn't quite hold back the strangled laughter, shaking his head and screwing his eyes shut in an effort to regain control.

"Adorable. Oh, my darling pet, so adorable."

Laughter ended abruptly as large hands lifted his waist again, moving him farther onto the bed. He looked up with a gasp as his lover's tongue circled his left nipple, one hand pushing cloth further down as the other wrapped around his cock. It was still shocking, the sight of himself with eyes dilated and glazed due to the actions of a man on top of him, shocking . . . and captivating. As the hand moved, stroking gently, and tongue tip flicked, causing a sudden storm of excitement, a renewal of the fire so briefly interrupted. And he struggled to remember a thought that nearly escaped.

"Mmmm . . . master . . . the door."

He managed not to whimper when the hand stopped rubbing, but then both large hands ran up and back down his sides, settling on his hips as that hot mouth resumed its journey downward and he squirmed, body insisting on moving somehow, any way it could while trapped. Warm breath whispered against his ribs.

"What about the door, sweetheart?"

He couldn't imagine what the prince was talking about, something about a door? His hands sought to touch again, finding broad shoulders and gripping, and then pushing, not really aware that he was demanding what he knew was coming. He became aware, though, a moment after his owner stopped, hands still, head raising, and his breath hitched as he met eyes suddenly hard and commanding. Staring, he wriggled again, body protesting the sudden ending of attention, still tense and yearning. The grazing of his erection against warm skin was the last contact, as the prince lifted himself out of reach, hands holding narrow hips down. Toshiro groaned, dropping his hold on the strong shoulders, hoping the gesture of submission was enough to get what he wanted, but the stern eyes simply watched him, no words, no direction given, just that imperious gaze. And it came to him, what his punishment was for being too assertive. Swallowing pride had never been so easy.

"Please . . . _master, please_."

The slow grin on his lover's face and in the brown eyes could only be described as wicked, and he could not look away from the seductive expression until he was answered.

"Of course, my pet."

And the royal head bent, the white head pressed back against the mattress, and two voices groaned in unison. What bliss! The fire in his veins was matched by the heat taking in the straining head of his erection and sliding down, wrapping his length in perfect wet warmth. Did sex feel like this? If . . . _when_ his owner took him, would the man feel pleasure like this? As the heat encasing him tightened and moved up, his questions were lost in the rising tension and he barely remembered the recent lesson, do not try to control, just give in, just let his owner do as he likes and it will all be so much better.

Clutching the sheets to keep from making another demand, to keep from thrusting his hips, still he could feel himself pushing against restraining hands as the strong, talented tongue laved over his head, pushing and circling, then moving away, the air feeling cold as the mouth abandoned him and he whined, _whined_ , begging without words.

"Don't try to hold back, pet. We must hurry now."

The words barely registered, but some part of him understood enough to wonder why his lover bothered. Toshiro had no idea how to hold back, and he felt like he was only seconds away from orgasm already. The hands side by side spanned his stomach, running up his ribs, across his chest, neck, shoulders, back down to curl around his hips, down his thighs that lifted into the caress, fingers everywhere. He wanted to shout, to curse; how dare the sadistic bastard tell him to hurry and then tease, touching every inch but the ones that counted?

But, oh, the sight of it! In the mirror above, his small, pale body partly bared between deep blue and black fabric, spread tanned hands that made him look like a writhing little doll. His whining breaths were gasps now, nearly sobs, and he thought he might cum just from this, when the grinning prince finally moved and, as much as he could with pants pushed barely down and restricting, he spread his legs wider to accommodate the nuzzling nose, the hot puffs of heavy breath.

Flattened tongue pushed, back and forth, rolling his testicles, an action that caused yet another intense wave of sensation. He had to give up trying to hold his voice back, crying out loudly when the hands lifted him and his lover's mouth enveloped the sac entirely, gently sucking while the tongue continued to play. He could not see, could not think, could not hear his lustful noises, overwhelmed and almost painfully in need of release.

When, finally, _finally_ , the pressure changed and moved quickly up and down, gliding fast around him, sharp jolts as the sensitive tip of his cock was rubbed hard by tongue, mouth, then throat, it was all unbelievably, intolerably perfect. With all senses, all nerves stretched to the breaking point, impossibly the stimulation continued as his back arched off the bed, hips pinned down again. Without control, his hands flew to soft hair, grabbing as he knew he should not. He felt more than heard himself shout as his muscles tightened and pulsed, ecstasy tearing through body and mind, cock soaked in wet, wet heat that strangled the sensitive flesh beautifully.

Faint, lightheaded, so wonderfully far from reality he drifted, trembling and fighting for air between moaning sighs. It would be too much to ask of the world, to simply stay this way, so disconnected and yet so in tune with every nerve. No, the world would insist on his return, was insisting now as he felt movement.

His hands were clenched, likely causing his lover pain, and he released the orange strands. The weight above him was moving, but he could not open his eyes yet, feeling the solid presence stay close as his own body went limp, hands and legs falling, sinking. Lips grabbed, moved against his open mouth, tongue entering gently, sliding against his. Still high, he moved leisurely against the mouth that had given him this bliss, slowly becoming more aware, slowly figuring out what the slightly odd taste was, a bit of salt, a hint of both sweet and bitter.

Turquoise eyes opened, stunned, to meet brown eyes glittering with devilry. The man knew exactly what he was doing, Toshiro realized, and annoyance warred again with amusement. But he was too sated and tranquil to protest, too grateful to feel insulted, so he sucked lightly on the slick tongue, feeling the prince's lips stretch into another pleased smirk. This entire thing was just too surprising. He still hated being here, hated what everyone in this God-forsaken wasteland had done to him. And yet he had found a type of consolation in this misery that he never expected. It would not be as difficult as he had feared, surviving the nightmare. And if he could survive, he could find a way through, if not to escape, at least to achieve his revenge.

Too surprising, indeed, as his mouth was free to gulp air again, and to let out a startled gasp as yet another intruder, this one a lot more frightening than Hanataro, big with blood red hair, tattoos everywhere, walked right in through the open door.

"So, are you guys done? Not that I mind, but there's a catatonic kid huddled on the floor down the hall, and some old dudes with big suitcases are standing out there, said they have an appointment, and half the palace can hear the two of you going at it with the door standing wide open like that."

This time . . . this time for sure he was going to simply die of humiliation.

ooooooooooOOOOOOOOOOoooooooooo

Something about this gorgeous young man took away all his sense, made him absolutely crazy. He kept doing things he had not planned, pushing too quickly. At this stage of the game, he'd predicted slowly coaxing his pretty gift to willingly submit to a hand job and some kissing. He'd gotten much further than that in the first 8 hours. This could have gone several ways, a timid creature he would have to spend weeks or months persuading, an angry little rebel he would have to truly chain and break down before rebuilding, so many variations in between. To have his pet look at him with desire, reach out and touch him without prompting, boldly flirt with seductive words, well, he hadn't seen that coming.

He chuckled again at the way Toshiro hid his face behind both arms, forgetting perhaps that the rest of that beautiful body would be exposed to view if he stood. He considered doing just that, to see the boy's reaction when he realized Renji and anyone else who decided to walk in would see him draped across the bed, jacket open, legs parted with pants shoved down. It would be priceless, but he wasn't quite ready to share even the sight of his pet's embarrassment with anyone.

"Out, Renji. Close the door. Tell the gentlemen they'll have my attention in five minutes."

"Yes, sire. All shall be as you command, Your Most Royal Highness."

"Cocky bastard."

"Ha! I'm not even gonna bother. That one's just too easy."

The door clicked shut and he let out an exasperated sigh as he turned his attention back to once again prying arms away. The bright eyes darted, confirmed they were alone, and finally looked up at him. Cheeks red, still breathing hard, and an expression of vexation, clearly as irritated with him as he had been with Renji. For some reason, it didn't upset him to have the little slave glaring at him. Reason had nothing to do with anything, anymore, it seemed, and he grinned as he got up, leaving the irate boy to tuck that cute cock away and scramble to straighten his clothing.

"Did I do something to upset you, pet?"

He was teasing, but the poor thing was too confused to realize it, or too genuinely angry to hold his sharp little tongue.

"You could have shut the door when I pointed out that it was wide open."

The fine hands halted, halfway done buttoning the jacket, and the boy winced, nearly cringed, no doubt just hearing the tone of his words. Toshiro was a fiery little thing with a sharp tongue, and he loved watching as his new lover repeatedly had to dance back from the ledges his temper kept trying to push him over. He waited to see if an apology was coming, a deflection, but Toshiro resumed buttoning and looked up with a blank expression. He smiled. It seemed his pet was taking his words to heart, accepting the consequences of speaking his mind. He reached out to stroke the soft cheek.

"And is that all? Nothing else I did made you angry?"

"No, master. Why . . ."

Toshiro stood, looking down and away with a harsh swallow.

"Why what, pet? No need to be coy."

"Why would you think that? You . . . what you do always feels incredible."

The voice was barely a whisper by the time his pet managed to finish the little confession. He reached again, turning that chin up and leaning down for a simple, gentle kiss. Then he turned to walk to the door, kicking a mess of books out of the way. The three men waiting in the hallway had stayed a respectful distance away, and he waved for them to come before turning back.

"Now then, I did have a perfectly innocent reason for coming here. Tomorrow is my wedding, and you need to be decorated appropriately."

"What?"

He cocked an eyebrow and waited, enjoying the various reactions he was getting, enjoying keeping the witty brat off balance. Toshiro was much more entertaining now that the young man was able to think clearly.

"You aren't married?"

Oh, very good. For a moment he thought the slave was going to be indignant or jealous, which would have been completely unacceptable. He reached into his pocket, bringing out the small key and watched surprise turn into a bizarre mix of happy relief and nervousness as he took one hand in his.

"I see the doubt and the question in your eyes. If you knew more of Hueco Mundo, you would know why I am 20 and unmarried. You would also know that it's traditional for any official mistresses or kept lovers to attend, not necessarily the ceremony itself and I will spare you that, but the private gathering of the royal household afterward."

He assumed that his pet would not understand. Given their recent conversation, it was clear that there were many, many differences between the social structures of Seireitei and Hueco Mundo. The drawn in brows, the slight scowl, but the question forming on the kiss-swollen lips was cut off and the expression returned to guarded and quiet as three men with two large cases and one smaller case came through the door. The click of the tiny lock made the pretty eyes swivel down, watching as he removed the cuff and reached for the other hand, then knelt to unfetter the delicate ankles, fingers wrapping around each and pulling them up one after the other to kiss exposed skin between slipper and hem, to keep that rosy hue on that flustered face.

"Come."

By the time he walked over, the jeweler's cases had been set up, clever wooden legs dropped from one end of the cases, trays that folded up and out to multiply display areas. The younger man did the work, the elders fussing with pieces until satisfied and then standing aside. He gave each his hand, the elders first, before looking at the fortune in gems, silver, white gold, and platinum. Toshiro had stepped up beside him, and what he saw in the boy's face surprised him. There was no awe, no shock at seeing such lovely riches, just appreciation and an appraising air that spoke of familiarity. Instantly, he changed his plan to pick out the jewelry himself.

"You'll be wearing your other blue jacket, the one with white trim. Choose whatever you like, not just for tomorrow but to have for the future." He leaned close. "I want you to shine like a star, darling."

The face still red with pleasure, shame, and anger reddened a bit more. He smiled and watched the boy take deliberate, deep breaths to calm down. As he suspected, Toshiro handled the pieces with casual care, bracelets, anklets, rings, earrings. With glances and brief gestures only, he made his choices clear, the jewelers moving items to the bare top row of the cases. The boy had experience, his actions and his choices made that clear; his easy, commanding air with the merchants made that clear. Now, a wealthy land Seireitei might be. Raised more gently than the average slave, fine. But surely slaves in Seireitei did not travel the land, sail the seas, and wear king's gems.

When the white-haired enigma looked up for his approval, he eyed the selection. The boy had good taste. He added several more of his own choices and nodded at the men, who hid any glee behind professional masks. They had been supplying the royals for generations, and had come prepared with the prince's preferred colors, and small sizes as directed. The smaller case was set on top and opened next. Within, only six items, ranging from a simple band of silver sporting a bright, faceted square emerald in the center, to a truly elaborate masterpiece, a wide choker with fine platinum chains dripping down, holding a number of teardrop emeralds and clear diamonds trapped like iridescent insects in a delicate spiderweb.

He took the strong metal in his hands, deceptively delicate, catching the eye and fooling the mind into thinking it fragile when it was anything but. Exactly right for Toshiro. He turned with a smile to see if it looked as stunning on that pale neck as he expected, only to pause, perplexed. Toshiro was staring at the choker, wide-eyed and showing the combination of fear and anger that had been absent since the previous night. One foot retreated, like his pet was about to run.

"It won't bite, pet. What has you upset now?"

The struggle was obvious, the boy reacting to the note of irritation and forcing himself to calm down once again. Looking from the panicked eyes, to the pretty thing in his hands, to the display, he made a guess.

"Slaves are not collared in Seireitei?"

His pet had gotten himself under control, that blank look used to hide his emotions had returned. The lovely eyes darted to the other men, and he registered the fact that the boy had become silent the moment the men had entered the room and he had not spoken a single word since. Really, every time he started to get annoyed, Toshiro proved even worthier of praise.

"Collars are an old tradition, not required daily but certainly at official functions. Lower classes where slaves cannot be trusted still collar with locked metal or leather. But your position warrants this, something beautiful and symbolic rather than coarse. The quality shows your status. The emerald makes it clear to anyone who you belong to. It is safer for you to wear one in public, at any rate.

"There is no shame in it here, Toshiro. Quite the opposite. Now, will you take my word until you can learn the truth of it for yourself?"

Holding up the ends of the open choker, he waited, not angry, not reassuring. If it meant so much to his pet, then the clever youth needed to make this decision and make the right one. He could understand the hesitation, now that he knew it was not customary in that odd wonderland. Hell, if someone asked him to put on a collar, he would kill the bastard without thought. Toshiro had pride, he had seen it, allowed it to continue in hopes of preserving the young man's strength.

Wide, turquoise eyes searched his for several seconds, jaw clenched. Then the boy stepped forward and turned, standing rigid while he lifted the collar, settling it around the neck peppered with lovely red and purple kisses and fastening the clasps. Hands on the narrow shoulders, he turned the boy back to face him, eyeing the results with satisfaction. When properly fit a little tighter and higher, the glittering web would highlight the slender neck, the longest loops brushing luscious collarbones. Stunning.

"Gentlemen, you have surpassed yourselves. The fit is loose; can it be corrected by tomorrow afternoon?"

"Of course, Your Royal Highness. And I am sure some of the other pieces will need adjustment. May I suggest a more basic collar for less formal occasions?"

"I do like the single gem, but not on such a narrow band. The third one will do."

It was a work of art, as well, silver scales overlapped, radiating out from a smooth oval cat's eye emerald that would be envied by all. The oldest of the merchants had spoken. The second oldest, his son, moved around the cases, reaching for the choker. His pet flinched, but stilled almost instantly, allowing the old man to move and pinch the collar tighter, a bit higher on the neck. Then he unclasped and removed it, settling it back in the case and bringing the second collar for sizing.

His new lover's eyes locked back on his as the collar was placed, the stranger's hands moving, touching, wrapping around the slim neck. The panic had not faded, but the bright eyes closed, breathing fast and shallow, and he watched, trying to figure out what was happening in that mysterious mind. After the second collar, the merchant brought each selected piece that might need resized, roughly handling Toshiro's hand and wrist, forcing the boy's foot up with a businesslike yank to try on the anklets. And still he watched, growing irritated to see anyone touching his gift, making the soft cheeks even more flushed, making the delicate throat swallow convulsively, making the pearly teeth clench and the pale flesh start to tremble.

"Only minor adjustments are needed, Highness," the patriarch spoke again while his son and grandson packed the cases. "All of the selected pieces will be delivered early tomorrow."

Business concluded, he hurried through the parting formalities, tensing but not turning when the youngest of the merchants shot worried glances behind him. Only when the door was closed and locked did he turn to see his pet, his beautiful, strong pet, collapsed on his knees with silent tears falling from porcelain cheeks to the silk rug.

ooooooooooOOOOOOOOOOoooooooooo

Silence. Or maybe he just could not hear through the dreadful thundering of his heart, the storm of emotions tearing through him. He couldn't do this. He could not hold himself together, hold on to who he was and always had been.

The silence stretched on. Pure panic started to fade, to separate, anger getting the upper hand. He was angry, at himself and his owner. At the bitch who had brought him here, the bastard who had ordered it, the whores that had given him false hope. Fury at himself for not simply ending his own life. He was a coward, building a false reality where he could play some kind of game against his owner and the world, convincing himself that there was any chance he would come through this with even an iota of dignity or worth. All because he was too afraid to end it through honorable death or shameful surrender.

To be laid down and given ecstasy while being treated with respect, what a lie. There was no respect. He was a toy, even the way the prince seemed to allow Toshiro's true reactions, it was a lie. Entertainment for his owner, manipulating him, making him feel valued one moment, angry, shamed, even joyful one after the other, playing right into the hands of his master.

And here he was, crying like a child, like the coward he was, on the floor where he belonged. For one moment, he had felt like himself. He was in control, such a simple thing, choosing beautiful jewelry. He forgot his reality for a brief time in a familiar situation. Only a powerful noble with knowledge, wealth and taste would be in such a position and it was too easy to feel like it was another day, a good day, a day where he held the authority.

To go from that pedestal to having a collar placed on his neck, it was a new and sudden fall from familiar heights to dreaded depths. Then the point was made crystal clear as a stranger, a merchant for fuck's sake, was allowed not just to touch him without his permission, but to manhandle him, to grab and examine him with no respect, yanking at his limbs, turning him to look only at the jewelry and how it looked on the pretty little doll, the whore with no voice. How could he have forgotten the chains, the brand, the heavy metal collar that he was led around by on the long journey from freedom?

And how could he have forgotten that the man he flirted with, submitted to, _wanted_ , was nothing more than his owner? He looked up, tears halted, burned dry by fury and renewed despair, dreading what he would see. Sense returning, he realized that he had just lost a major battle, perhaps the entire war. It was an irrational reaction, quite out of his control, but that did not change the fact that he had shown how weak, how despicably weak he was in front of the one man that could not be allowed to see.

The prince stood near the door, expressionless, even his eyes guarded. What did the man think of him now? All his efforts to build up his value, all the pleasure he had accepted and started to honestly desire, down on the dirty floor with a whore not worth the effort to take a few steps forward and comfort. Stilling his thoughts was not possible, but he tried to get his own expression under control as he got to his feet, not wiping the damp off his face.

"I have made a serious mistake with you."

The tone was not angry, just flat, almost disinterested. What little hope he had left faded. He had made himself a burden, a thing to be avoided. The prince would get rid of him, send him back to that bastard who had promised misery if he failed to please. And he would never see daylight again, never see pleasure without pain, never again see this man who was finally stepping closer as he shook with the effort not to collapse once more.

The large hand that came up slowly and cupped his left cheek surprised him. Without thought, he found himself pushing lightly into that hand, seeking reassurance. Where was his strength? Where had his anger gone when he needed it?

"There. It is little things like that, pet, that made me think you were okay. I've pushed you too far, too fast. This is not the way I wished to break you."

 _Break you_? Oh, he was broken alright, that was the perfect way to describe it. He didn't even recognize himself, couldn't even predict his own actions anymore.

"You are not ready for the things I have been doing, and certainly not ready to be introduced to the court. Hopefully it is not too late to correct this. I will slow down, give you some time alone."

"No," he whispered it before he knew he had reacted, his hand coming up to keep the warmth from leaving his cheek. "Please, no."

The prince's head cocked to one side, eyes narrowing and searching his. He tried, thinking of confidence he did not feel, desire he wished he did not feel, tried to put something worth seeing into his eyes, tried to rebuild the reality he had worked so hard to create rather than face the reality that had him on his knees.

"What are you thinking, little pet? Please, no what?"

"Don't," he swallowed hard, pushing down more anxiety, a sick emptiness in his stomach at the thought of being rejected, thrown away. His hand slid down, right hand coming up, too, to close around the strong wrist, tightening. "This is the only good thing I have."

"Hmm. Hitsugaya Toshiro, slave who weeps when given a royal collar, what good did you have in your life before coming here? What is it you mourn for? What can I give you to make you forget the past?"

The large thumb wiped at wet skin as he closed his eyes on the pain of those questions. He could not be honest. The prince had mentioned his pedigree, his papers as if he were a prized dog. The prince had been given a gift with all the proper documentation, from the bastard who was likely a friend, trusted far more than a slave. The prince had him only known him chained and collared, a brand on his shoulder, and in Hueco Mundo, one did not even have to be born into slavery. The prince had surely caught and enslaved many enemies, or simply peaceful men and women who happened to be foreigners.

He could not be honest and cry out now that he was no slave. Even if his owner believed him, it would not change anything. It would only be one more burden, one more way to make him more trouble than he was worth. He had to offer some explanation and he could not tell the truth. But he could not lie. Lies would be found out eventually, they always were. He looked back up and kept his voice calm, thought of every word twice to be sure he did not lie.

"I was weak, master, just now. A moment of weakness, that's all. When I was brought here, the journey was . . . difficult. I had never been treated like a slave. The brand was the worst of it, but the collar . . . a metal thing that bruised my neck, and men led me around with a chain, like an animal. No one would tell me why, only that I was a slave and should act like one, and I was not allowed to ask."

For a moment he feared the anger in the brown eyes was directed at him. Then his owner's left hand came up to his lower back, pulling him close, holding him. His hands left the man's wrist and circled his waist. He could not hold back the deep sigh of relief, or the way his cheek burrowed into the muscular chest, into the scent of clove and sunlight.

"And when you saw the collar, you panicked. I would not have had you go through such suffering, pet, had I known. It is common, you realize, nothing anyone here would be shocked by. You were not repeatedly raped by those who brought you to Las Noches. Most would say that was gentle treatment, to not be passed hand to hand. But had I found you myself, no one would ever have treated you so roughly."

Suddenly the large body he was holding moved, his feet were swept out from underneath him, and he was being carried back to the bed. Before he had time to react or say anything, he was being lowered and he allowed himself to just relax where he was placed, exhaustion dragging away the last of his will.

"Rest now, darling. Once again, I can't stay. So, rest and I will return tonight."

 _Promise me you will come back_ , he wanted to scream, _promise you will not discard me_.

But he was silent, welcoming a gentle kiss, a final caress of his cheek. Only after the footsteps receded and the door locked did he realize that the chains and open cuffs remained on the floor beside the bed.


	18. Nothing is Swifter than Rumor

.

 **Chapter 18**

 **Nothing is Swifter than Rumor**

"Hey!"

A white boot pushed at the small bundle of brown clothing, earning a weak whimper.

"Hey, you dead?"

"Of course, he's not dead, Loly. Lighten up, would you?"

She knelt next to the healer's apprentice, hand shaking his shoulder. The young man's face was completely hidden in his arms, curled up on his side with his back to the wall. She hadn't even spotted him at first, and her shaking only made him clench into a smaller ball.

"Hanataro? You need us to go get Unohana?"

Something was mumbled, not loudly enough to be clear.

"Oh, just leave him, Menoly. Nobody cares if he dies in the hall. Let's go back; whoever it was is gone now. Unless it was Abarai molesting this little turd."

The pair had been heading back to their quarters on the third floor, stopping on the second-floor landing of the servants' stairway when they heard what was undoubtedly the sound of sex. Only one male voice, though. So they stood in the shadows, debating whether to sneak closer or just leave. The possibility that the prince was having fun all by himself, poor thing with no mistresses, no wife, so lonely . . . who could resist? And Loly, who had apparently not learned her lesson about flirting with nobility, was hoping a lucky encounter might mean the prince would be without a mistress no longer. Hell, even she would take that invitation. Being a servant of a royal mistress, she could see the perks and they were definitely worth an occasional night with a handsome man and spitting out a brat or two that other women could take care of.

When things grew quiet, she figured they'd lost whatever slim chance they had of catching the red-headed prince red-handed anyway, and pulled at her friend to leave. But Loly was nothing if not persistent and dragged her into the prince's wing. Just a few steps later, they'd both had to flatten against the wall, eyes down as the Abarai heir stormed down the hallway. He barely glanced their way, not caring why they were there, thank the gods. That man always looked pissed, with his tattoos and crazy hair. She shivered just thinking of what would have happened if they'd run into him or even made him pause.

That had frightened Loly enough to turn her around, but then she'd spotted a big, dark lump farther up the hallway and just had to go look. And now here they were, in a place they had no business being, with an interesting mystery at their feet.

"Are you hurt? Did Abarai hurt you?"

Finally, the ball uncurled just a little, face wide-eyed and beet red peeking out from messy, long strands of black hair. It didn't seem possible, but maybe Loly's sarcastic comment was right. The short shit did look like he'd just been molested.

"Don't worry, he's gone. You're safe. You okay?"

"What?"

"Seriously, leave the twerp. He's fine."

She ignored her companion, relieved when the tiny terror sighed dramatically and turned, slamming her slight weight back against the wall and crossing her arms in a huff.

"Fine. Don't expect me to waste my time. And don't expect me to run off for the doctor, either."

"Come on. You think you can get up? Or just sit up and let me look at you. I can go get help if you're hurt."

The blue eyes looked up at her as if just now noticing he wasn't alone.

"Huh? I'm fine. I just, um, I, well, fine, I'm fine."

"What a loon."

"Cut it out, Loly. He was kind enough to you when you were . . ."

"DON'T!" Magenta eyes narrowed over bared teeth as Loly leaned over them both. "Don't you _ever_ talk about that."

"Yeah, yeah. Point is, it wouldn't kill you to be a little nicer to him."

Loly turned away again, resuming her posture of indifference with her mouth shut in a fierce frown. She shouldn't have said that, it just slipped out. The brave, tough girl couldn't stand the fact that she had been hurt, and worse, that others had seen her cry. Anyone would cry after that. She had only been 14, her first week as a servant of a royal mistress. No one had warned her to avoid being noticed by the king. No one had told her not to smile back at the seemingly kind smile, the falsely friendly eyes.

She had found the girl, after, huddled in a ball just like Hanataro, barely able to breath for sobbing. She cleaned the girl up, got her back on her feet, provided what comforting words she could find. They were both in trouble for being late for their lady's morning routines. Her own mistress was content to yell at her. Loly was not so fortunate, and it didn't take the lady long to guess why her new serving girl was holding back tears, why the girl moved so slowly.

The bitch had been furious, not at the grown man who had sweet-talked an innocent underage girl into his bed only to violently abuse her, but at the girl who stole her lord's attention and favor, even if for only one night. It had been a particularly bad one, the lady already in a snit because she had failed to keep the king's interest. The so-called lady couldn't exactly hit her lord and master. So, all her rage was vented on Loly. Two weeks in an infirmary bed, and then months of enduring the snide comments, the sarcastic concern voiced by the bitch who thought it was fair to punish the victim, to beat someone who would be painfully executed if they fought back.

And now this. Such a sweet kid, really too sweet for his own good without a wicked bone in his body. He would have no chance against anyone, let alone one of the most powerful men in Las Noches, heir to a great family and the prince's right hand. Fucking nobility.

"Hanataro, you're really not hurt? What are you doing lying in the hall, and in this wing?"

"I – I live here. Just over there."

"This is the prince's wing. Are you sure you aren't lost?"

"No, no really. I'm living here to help the prince's . . . his, um, his mistress."

"WHAT!"

Oh, damn it. The timid apprentice leaned all the way back into the wall as Loly loomed over him again, the red that had been fading from his cheeks now getting worse. The kid didn't look well at all.

"Since when does the prince have a mistress? Who is she? When did she get here? What does she look like? Spill, Hanataro!"

"What . . . I – I don't, that is, I can't . . . um, I should get back."

"Oh, no you don't." Loly's small hand grabbed a handful of fabric on Hanataro's chest and yanked, making the man squeak like a girl as she dragged him down the hall to the dark alcove off the landing of the stairway. She didn't interfere, knowing Loly would likely deck her and then smack Hanataro around until she got what she wanted. Typical. The mistress can't lash out at the king, so she lashes out at the servant. The servant can't fight back against the mistress, so she fights with everyone around her.

"Start talking, pipsqueak. I want to know everything about this bitch."

"Well, um, actually, you see, the thing is, it's a man."

ooooooooooOOOOOOOOOOoooooooooo

Jealousy was not a common feeling for Renji. Maybe when he was young, still the extra son, not particularly talented with a big chip on his shoulder. But things had changed drastically. For one, all the people he once envied now envied him. He hardly gave them a thought. His view on his place in life had fundamentally changed thanks to Ichigo.

And now jealousy was back, also thanks to Ichigo. The new wife was beautiful; the word didn't even begin to touch her. And she looked kind, soft-spoken, the gentle nature of a proper noble wife. He was 21 now, 5 or 6 years past the point where he should have been married. He should have at least one scion to brag about, and warm arms to come home to when he could. His parents had tried, of course, and would start insisting soon. But they couldn't deny the benefits of waiting, letting him focus entirely on the prince. He didn't regret putting it all on hold to see his duty to his prince done but seeing that angel in a veil had reminded him of what was missing.

Then, he went to consult with his friend on the various plans in progress – the wedding, the raid, the plot to take down Nnoitra, and a few other irons they had in the fire. Walking down the hall lost in thought, he'd nearly tripped over the healer's apprentice. Shaken out of his reverie, he stared down and the sounds from down the hallway started to sink in.

At first, he was vastly amused. He started for the room again, a wide grin on his face, only to find another obstacle. The three men were more worldly than the boy down the hall. But even they hid curiosity and embarrassment when he came up behind them and questioned their presence. Then the old man's face went blank while the other two nearly choked at the sudden doubling of volume, the increasingly lewd and incredibly arousing voice crying out, the door standing open.

A gentleman he was not, but he did wait until there was a distinctive break in the action before he made his move, confident that he would be the one with the upper hand, the one causing the cocky know-it-all royal brat to blush.

Bad enough seeing Ichigo fully clothed, positioned on the bed in such a way that made it obvious what he had been doing to earn those heated shouts. Bad enough to see the pretty face flushed as the two broke from an intense kiss, the slender, pale chest heaving and decorated with love marks. Those eyes! Glazed and lovely and unlike anything he'd ever seen. Not that he'd ever been tempted to suck a cock, maybe that got the best results, but had every lover he had known faked it? Because he was pretty sure he'd never seen anything quite so sexy as the ecstasy in those gem-like eyes.

Drifting off in memory and fantasy seemed to be becoming a habit. He looked up at the slightly ostentatious mansion known as The Desert Rose, just the place to clear his head of both the innocent doe-eyes of the prince's fiancée, and the seductive bedroom-eyes of the prince's lover. He walked through the clean and perfectly manicured gardens toward the entrance. Well, almost perfectly manicured. He noticed the minute flaw, the rose hedges on his left stunning, the hedges on the right slightly overgrown, dead leaves and faded blooms needing trimmed.

"Shit! Ow!"

He stopped in his tracks, looking around bewildered.

"Stupid fucking flowers."

A rustle of leaves to his right, but he saw nothing. The hedges were only four feet high. He stepped closer and peered over. What was it with all of the tiny people he kept tripping over?

"Ow! Dammit, why would anyone want these bloody menaces!"

"Um, because they're pretty?"

The short waif of a girl let out a startled yelp, falling back from her crouched position to land on her tiny backside.

"You!" she growled, like a cute, fuzzy puppy snapping to keep from pissing itself. Funny, he didn't remember doing anything to earn this much animosity. Nor did he think he was quiet enough to have startled her so badly.

"Stop laughing, you jerk!"

"Was I laughing? Sorry, you need a hand up?"

He had made his way to the corner of the path and around to her side. Reaching out his hand, he earned a smack and a glare.

"Don't you even think of touching me, pervert."

"Suit yourself."

The little, dirty floor-scrubber turned gardener snarled at him as she stood, not bothering to wipe off the dust from knees and rear, dust that simply merged into the general dirtiness of her clothing. He kept watching her, amused again by the fierce personality in the small, unkempt package. Before the tiny hands clenched, he spotted the raw skin, many pinpricks of blood on almost every finger amidst the grime.

"Tending rose bushes by hand? No tools or even gloves? Pretty sure I pay enough here for the help to have equipment. You need a few coins?"

"Shut up! I don't want anything to do with you or your filthy money."

"That can't be true. You do work at a whorehouse. What'd you do to get stuck out here, bite some old geezer's cock off?"

The spitfire kicked his shin as she growled. He made himself stand still despite the pressing need to jump on one foot and rub his sore leg, made himself snicker at the ferocious mouse. Bitch kicked hard!

"I said shut it! Go fuck something, you arrogant son of a whore. Leave. Me. ALONE!"

"Rukia!"

He glanced toward the manor to see the Madame stalking toward them, radiating rage.

"GODDAMMIT!" After that yell, she dropped her fists and her head with a loud sigh. "Thanks a lot, asshole."

"Forgive me, Lord Abarai. I can't turn my back on this worthless brat for a second. You can be sure her attitude will be corrected, most thoroughly."

The worthless brat wasn't shaking or crying in face of the threat, he could hear her teeth grinding, see the lip curling back as her snarl widened. As he had once thought, she had the heart of a queen. Sweet brown eyes and hot teal eyes were forgotten. Indignant, wild violet eyes took their place

"Oh, not on my account, Madame Cirucci. She did quite well, I must say."

"P-pardon?"

The Madame's pinched, doll-like features were smoothed out in bewildered surprise, and he saw the violet eyes widen, glancing sideways at him from the still lowered head.

"You, my dear, have a great eye for talent. As one would expect from the Madame of The Desert Rose. Little . . . Rukia, was it? . . . she's quite a catch."

"Oh?" Now the painted trollop was simpering at him, and he had to hold back the desire to retch. "I'm so glad you are pleased, my lord, but I'm sorry to say this one is not available."

"For sex? That's fine. I prefer fully _developed_ women for that." Growling again from somewhere around ankle height. "Just a fetish of mine, you see. Can't allow it at home, but there's something hot about a good verbal spanking from one's inferiors, especially when they are so filthy and weak looking, don't you think?" And the growling turned into a sputtering choke.

He took the arm of the short, curvy Madame as she giggled up at him. With his free hand, he reached into a pocket and took out a fat golden coin. The big eyes looked up through the rat's nest of black hair, soiled face red with fury as the wages of a top whore landed in the dirt before her feet.

"So, my lovely, do you have anyone special I could spend some time with today? I've been pretty stressed with the wedding and all, I could use something relaxing."

"I know just the girl for you, my lord. And be sure to have her give you a massage, she's very good. She knows how to take care of a man, not like that dirty servant girl."

"Don't be so sure. With that attitude, she could make one hell of a dominatrix someday. Why do you have her working in the garden instead of in house? I can't say I'd object to buying some of her time, now that I think about it. Like I said, you have a very good eye."

The flattery kept the spiteful woman's tongue moving. Manipulating people was more Ichigo's game, but he found he was enjoying himself. And hopefully his lies had saved Rukia a lashing.

"Perhaps someday, my lord. Master Nnoitra doesn't think she'll ever amount to anything. He's had no end of trouble with her. She bit the first client, you do not want to know where, and she's been nothing but a disaster ever since. It's only a matter of time before he loses his patience and sells her off to someplace that doesn't mind scarring up the merchandise."

"Too bad. Well, she's a scrawny thing, anyway. Probably wouldn't earn you much if she's not willing to use that to her advantage. Take my prince, for example. He likes delicate little things."

"Oh, I doubt that. Prince Ichigo is so strong, and I was there to see his bride's arrival. No dainty girl, that."

"True, true. But have you seen his lover? Short as that rose girl, thin as her, pale with odd eyes, too. Maybe you should clean her up and sell her to the prince, eh? Course, maybe he just likes his men that way."

"A man? Really? You're just teasing me, my lord."

"You are delightful to tease, Madame, but I'm telling the truth for once. Weird looking kid, in a pretty kind of way."

"Now, if the prince of Hueco Mundo had taken in an official lover, I would have been the first to know about it, my lord. I know all of the pretty young things in Las Noches that might make a good whore or a good mistress."

"He's not from around here, though. I doubt even you know every whore in the world."

"How fascinating! You must tell me more, my lord."

More giggling, and he grinned as they walked through the door. Yeah, he thought to himself, he was definitely good at getting information out of people.

ooooooooooOOOOOOOOOOoooooooooo

"Now be good, my little princess. Just keep your mouth and your legs shut for one more day. Don't ruin it."

She stood quiet, unresponsive with her eyes down. What should have been an amazing experience, a tour of the castle and the astounding views of the city, had been a trial in the Kenpachi's hateful company. Gravelly laughter retreated, the solid door swung closed. Still, she waited, her own ritual of counting ten breaths, letting the presence of her guardian fade with the sound of heavy footsteps. Only when the slow tenth exhale had passed her lips did she finally look up, first meeting Tatsuki's waiting, excited eyes and then looking around in wonder.

The room was big, as big as any two rooms in the nicest of the two stone lodges she had called home. The walls were softened with hanging tapestries, the stone floor covered in thick rugs with thinner, bright silk rugs on top making soft padding underfoot. A tall wardrobe filled one corner, a makeup table next to it with a large mirror. There were no windows, the room must be in the interior of the castle, but there was plenty of light from clean beeswax candles and odd glass globes on stands by the desk and on either side of the bed.

And the bed, the big, canopied bed, draped all over in baby blue and white, darker blue privacy curtains tied open. Even from here, it looked soft as a cloud, piled high with pillows. She bounced a little on her toes, starting to smile. That was all her friend needed to rush forward, grab her hand, and pull her along. They both half jumped, half crashed into the bed, Orihime landing face down with a loud squeal while Tatsuki flipped and landed on her back, laughing up at the dark blue.

It even smelled like another world, the sweet, crisp smell that she only experienced once every four months or so, when enough water could be spared for a real cleaning. She breathed it in, deep and long, before turning onto her back, taking off one glove after the other, reaching up to tear the clips out of her hair and let the veil fall on the bed.

"And this is just a guest room! Oh, Orihime, I take back everything I said about this being a dump."

"And soon I'll never have to see him again."

Tatsuki stopped smiling at that, turning and wrapping one arm around her in a sideways hug while she kept looking at the canopy above.

"The nerve, saying something like that to you. What an asshole. But forget him, what about your prince? No one said he was hot!"

"Our kids will have such outrageous hair."

They both giggled again at that, and she sat up, suddenly remembering something she had heard. Looking around, she spotted the two smaller doors and jumped to her feet. By the time she opened the first, Tatsuki was right behind her. The room revealed was a second, smaller bedroom, about the size of her room in the nicer of the villages, with a bed suited for one that still looked new, clean, and incredibly comfortable.

"Good gods," her friend was staring, "even the servants get their own rooms and dressers and everything!"

The second door had them both speechless in amazement. The stone floor here was decorated, small colorful tiles and thick lacquer. Even the walls were a mosaic, simple floral designs scattered here and there. It was dim, but there were enough sconces, each with a mirror behind the candle to amplify light, that she could imagine how the place would sparkle. One wall had a floor to ceiling cabinet stuffed with towels, soaps, bottles of liquid, even slippers, and had a large washing basin not sitting on a stand, but built into an alcove in the wall, something she had never seen before. Small, copper fixtures with silver knobs stuck out of the wall over the basin. She reached, turning the knob on top of one, and jumped as a stream of clear water fell into the basin before sloshing around a little and disappearing down a hole in the bottom.

Almost scared, she hurried to turn the knob the other way. So much water just wasted! And she didn't think anyone was going to come correct her for doing it. Where the water came from, where it went . . .

"Water. In the house. That was clean water."

She stared at the eyes nearly as frightened as hers, and they both turned slowly. There stood what she recognized as a bathtub, though the big copper basin was more like an animal trough, big enough to completely submerge yourself in water. Another hole at one end in the bottom, more fixtures sticking out of the wall over the tub at the other end. She reached. She twisted. She gaped again in shock. Tatsuki had shut it off before much water could escape, and they both watched the water slither across the copper and vanish. She had no idea what to say.

"Orihime, I think . . ." Tatsuki leaned down, her fingertips dragging along the wetness at the bottom of the tub as if she had to confirm what her eyes saw. Then she plucked up something lying there, another piece of metal, this one narrow and silver at the bottom, with a wide copper disc at the top. She watched as her friend placed the thing, blocking the hole where the water drained away.

"Surely not."

"Go on." Tatsuki nudged her arm, daring her. "You know you want to."

They stood side by side, half clinging to each other, as horror slowly turned to wonder. Her hand shook a little when she reached out to halt the flow, then she could not resist bending low, letting her hand trail in the inch or so of colorless, perfectly clean water. She felt a little faint. Perhaps twice a year the rains fell enough to partly fill the reservoirs, but that water was prized and guarded. The dingy wells in the desert would keep you alive, and there were a few precious oases. She had even waded in one as a child, risking a severe whipping for the delight of cool, rippling water almost up to her knees. It was a feeling she had never forgotten.

"Is this still the desert?"

"One of my tutors was from Las Noches. She said there is more water here than anyone could ever use, far underground. That's why the city is here. She said she bathed every day, not just a washrag and a bowl of water but a real bath, washed her hair every day, and never had to go out looking for water or carry it around even in the dry season. Everyone laughed and called her crazy. I didn't believe her."

"So, you wanna go back and apologize?"

Laughing again felt good. She didn't think she would have survived without Tatsuki. And then this day of wonder would never have happened. A faint knock startled them both. She started toward the bed to retrieve gloves and veil, then stopped herself. Kenpachi would never knock timidly, if he bothered to knock at all. Tatsuki was already by the door, long-knife in hand. She straightened herself, standing poised as the door opened.

"Fuck, you're tall!"

The woman on the other side stood with her arm raised, ready to knock again, and a look of embarrassment was spreading across her face.

"Tatsuki," she hissed. Then, a little louder, "Hello. May I help you?"

"Ah," the tall woman gave a quick bow from the waist, two thin braids falling forward over her right shoulder from her otherwise short, silvery hair, "Lady Orihime, my name is Isane. May I speak with you?"

"Of course." She was mystified, but the woman seemed harmless. Not that her size would matter with Tatsuki right beside her. "Please, come in."

"My lady, the King's household was concerned that you have only one lady and no servants. I've come to offer my services to help you settle in and assist through the wedding. I was waiting lady to the late Queen."

The soft voice was a little sad. Orihime had never met the Queen, or the one before her, or any royalty for that matter unless the old tutor who claimed to be a foreign princess was also telling the truth. The Queen must have been kind, to be mourned by those left behind. And this lady seemed kind as well, with her quiet voice and open expression.

"I am sure we can use your help, Isane. This is Tatsuki, my lady in waiting. I am afraid we are both unfamiliar with the ways of Las Noches. Any assistance or advice would be most welcome."

More pleasantries were exchanged, the atmosphere becoming lighter as they spoke. Isane was only formal for a brief time, Tatsuki dragging her over to the bed and flopping down seemed to break any tension. Soon, the three were sitting on the mattress chatting about everything from what to expect at dinner in a few hours to the miracle of the water.

"Of course, the bathroom in your quarters is much nicer." She exchanged an amazed glance with Tatsuki. "And you'll have your own cold-water storage just for the prince's wing, so you won't get stuck with hot baths in the summer. There is a sitting room, too, so no more piling on the bed."

"So, I won't be sharing with the prince's harem?"

"Harem? Oh, you mean . . . no, each mistress has their own rooms, their own servants. You will not need to share any space at all."

"How many does he have?"

Tatsuki's lips were pursed. Her friend was one of those who rebelled against the status quo. It was permitted, as long as the woman could fight as well as a man. Some warrior women eventually married, usually to a man they had fought beside and respected. Women who achieved glory were highly prized, particularly by chiefs who expected such women to produce stronger sons.

She was more realistic. In the tribe, many men died in battle if they even made it to adulthood, resulting in far more women available for few husbands. Then there were the captives, most enslaved unlike her. Most men had at least three wives, several female slaves, and chiefs had many more. She had been raised expecting to be one among many, a lesser wife if she was lucky, just another member of the harem if she was not. When she heard she was to be the wife of the prince of the entire desert she was prepared to become the only wife, but also to share her lord with a great number of mistresses as befit his rank.

For some reason, Isane seemed embarrassed again as she answered. "One."

"Sorry, one?" Tatsuki was grinning.

"Yes, and I don't know how this works in the desert tribes. It's a male lover, you see. Officially still the same rank as a mistress, though obviously there will be no children. The King has no liking for male lovers, so it has been many years since there has been one in the household."

"A . . . male?" She stared. Her tutors hadn't really covered this. And none of the tribesmen talked to her. "Um, that, well . . . Tatsuki?"

"Male lovers aren't uncommon, especially among younger warriors. But that is just something that happens. They don't end up as . . . mistresses, or anything official like that even if the relationship continues. There are often relations between females, as well."

"Really?"

Isane looked back and forth between them. Her ignorance was showing, but she didn't really care. It wasn't her choice, a lifetime of being told only what others thought she needed to know in order to be the perfect, quiet little wife. Only Tatsuki ever told her anything about real life. Now, maybe Isane could tell her, too.

"So, what's he like? Or do wives and mis . . . um, lovers, never meet?"

"It's really up to the wife, or the husband in the case of a reigning Queen. Tradition here is that the wife oversees everyone in the household except their husband, as involved as they want to be, or they can ignore any lovers if they prefer. The King's first wife, for example, was very much in control of everyone except His Majesty. While his second wife was a more private lady, and never spoke to a single mistress. I only found out about the prince's lover today. I don't know anything about him except that he's young and a foreign slave."

"Hang on," Tatsuki sounded confused and a bit angry, "you only found out today? He brought in a lover the day his fiancée arrived?"

That was a good point. Tatsuki often caught things she didn't. She just wasn't thinking of things like jealousy or questioning her fiancé so soon, if ever. Her friend often said she was too naive. But what did it matter, really, when the prince could and would do anything he wanted to do? All she could do was decide how she would live her life within his world. And getting upset over mistresses and lovers that she had always expected to be present, well, she simply didn't understand how that would help her or anyone.

"I don't like repeating rumors." She was not so naive that she didn't recognize that little hint of glee. No one she knew was so noble to say and mean that. "It seems the young man arrived the night of Prince Ichigo's ascension. You know that a crown prince doesn't receive his father's name until 20? That's why he wasn't married earlier, he was still illegitimate, and any wife, mistresses, or kids would likely be assassinated."

Tatsuki simply nodded. Odd the things her friend accepted and the things she found unjust. Orihime had been raised in the same culture, but the trial-by-fire that the kings and queens put their own children through had horrified her when she learned of it. Now, she would be expected to mother children that one day would have to survive the same.

"No one knows yet if the prince already had a lover and just kept him secret, or if he waited until his ascension to take a lover. But they do know that the mistresses' quarters were empty until that night."

"Kept him a secret? To protect him from enemies until he was confirmed as heir. That's . . ." Romantic? Sweet? Noble? ". . . smart."

Her prince had a heart.

"Does the prince prefer men?"

That might not be such a bad thing. Or she would have thought that yesterday. Now, she was curious about the prince. He was attractive, for one thing. If he was not interested in her sexually, would that be a blessing or a curse? No doubt she would be expected to produce an heir whether the prince had to force himself into her bed or not.

"That I do know. He likes both men and women. Everyone knows that."

Everyone knows that? So now she was marrying a male slut? She giggled a little, drawing bemused looks. Her guardian's constant derision, calling her a whore, implying she slept around when she never touched a man more than a hand onto horseback, and now she was marrying a man with a reputation.

"Well, I would like to meet him. After the wedding and a day or two for everything to calm down would probably be a good idea, right? Or do you think I should introduce myself right away?"

"Right away would be the best move, he may be at the wedding, after all. Maybe after dinner? I will leave as soon as the dinner ends and have him waiting by the time you return. And you don't introduce yourself, you send for him and he must come."

"Yeah, Hime, you're the princess."

She and Tatsuki laughed at that, but Isane was nodding seriously.

"That is right, my lady. If you do plan on having a public life, start strong and stay strong. You are in the heart of the kingdom, now. Speaking of showing strength, we should start getting ready for dinner. What were you planning to wear?"

"Um, this?"

"Oh, no, my lady," the gray eyes looked horrified. "You never wear the same clothes during the day and then to dinner with the King. Did you look through the wardrobe? Your clothes should have been delivered a week ago."

Isane got up and went to the massive wooden armoire and sighed with relief when the doors opened. She looked around the woman to see clothes bursting out of the wardrobe, a row of shoes underneath gowns, wraps, tunics, pants, and on the doors were small shelves and hooks, ribbons of silk between the glitter of jewels. Her hands grasped the second finest dress she owned, the one she currently wore, and then she couldn't help but step forward, hands lifting to the silk, the linen, the gold and silver thread, more wealth than she had ever seen all in one closet.

This day had to end soon. She wasn't sure how much more her heart could take.

ooooooooooOOOOOOOOOOoooooooooo

Trailing fingertips languorously along deep lines carved through rock-hard muscle, he purred low in appreciation. Yumichika had seen hundreds of bodies, male and female, old and young, of all types. His own was a work of art, one he took great care to refine and polish, to shape and tone. He could trace defined muscles on his own body, not so chiseled as this but advertising strength and agility all the same. As much as he admired the mirror, and as much beauty and ugliness as he had witnessed, there was something about this body in particular that he found irresistible. It was his definition of masculine perfection, the very body he imagined when he needed fantasy to get through the night. He did not need to try to make this client feel special, wanted, lusted after.

"I swear I'm going to gut her with that knife. No one will pin it on me if she doesn't come back from this raid."

Stretched alongside the living sculpture he petted, propped lightly on one elbow. He had listened carefully as Ikkaku told him of the confrontation, listened despite the distraction, the temptation of the hot, hard body shamelessly sprawled nude on his bed. It helped that he had taken that long cock two times already. With most clients, twice was a gift he bestowed expecting generous recompense. Not with this one.

"But, dearest, I think you may be overlooking something."

"What do you mean?"

He was careful. Even though Ikkaku had never hurt him, never raised a hand, never would, the man was justifiably full of pride. Over the three years since Ikkaku became a regular, the pair had found that they could talk to each other freely, honestly. But when Ikkaku lost his temper the result was weeks of separation before he would show up again, an expensive gift the only apology between them. He hated when that happened, mostly because it reinforced his position, the wide gap between them. He could not go after Ikkaku like a normal lover would, could not follow him out, could not show up at his door to make up, could not do anything but smile and accept the payment like a whore.

"Well, humor me. What would have happened next if Halibel had not threatened you?"

"I would have apologized and that would have been that."

He ran his palm over the broad chest, looking up and seeking eye contact.

"Would it really? The way you described it, the prince had already drawn. You wouldn't have let him cut you down without a fight. And he intended to strike, didn't he?"

The muscles tensed under his hand, thin lips drawing down in a frown. But Ikkaku looked up at the ceiling for a minute and admitted it.

"Yeah, he did. There are few things that have ever scared me. The look in his eyes . . . there's this look he gets, like he's possessed or something, and he goes still and cold, and then people die. Yeah, I would have drawn, and he would have killed me."

He didn't belabor the point, no need to now that the warrior had seen the tactics used by his rival and ally. That was good. Ikkaku stood to gain much more from working with Halibel than killing her, and Yumichika would do anything he could to help him advance.

Falling in love with a client, what a disaster. Especially now. He was nearly 22, at least according to his official papers. He had lied about his birth date in order to be accepted at The Crowned Serpent, and according to that lie his time was almost up. He had not told Ikkaku. He wouldn't. He would just disappear. Anything rather than say goodbye.

"I, for one, am glad you resolved the situation. Losing you that way, over a harmless joke, I would have died of a broken heart." He leaned in, kissing the strong jaw, breathing warm against the edges of that frown. "Well, now we know to tread carefully around the prince's love life."

The arm stretched behind him moved closer, callused hand against perfectly smooth buttock, fingers unerringly finding dimples as they explored. Funny, the parts of him each client favored. For this one, it was those little dips between spine and cheeks. Sometimes, Ikkaku would have him lie on his stomach and would worship his body, with special attention to those curves, and he loved every minute of it.

"All that for a woman he'd never met. Good thing I didn't tease him about his new mistress."

"Oh, this is good gossip. I didn't know the cad had a mistress."

Of course, he did not have anything against the prince. Ichigo had been a client, and a damned fine one. Hell, he had dreamed about that first night with the prince for over a year! But soft insults, a little disregard made sure that his current client never felt threatened, never felt like he had any interest in any prince or any other man. It was easy, since he would dearly love to say it was true. He wondered how many more clients he would have in the few remaining days. It would have been nice to time it so that Ikkaku was his last.

"Did I say mistress? Apparently, it's a boy toy. Very secret, you know," Ikkaku grinned wickedly as he turned, now leaning over him as he lay back.

"Ichigo's only had him since his Ascension party, but word is the king's own healer had to be called the next morning."

He giggled as lips trailed down his throat, though he didn't feel amused by that in the least. Everyone knew he loved gossip, it was as good as currency in a whorehouse. This gossip was especially valuable. The pretty white-haired kid had managed to make an impression despite his surly attitude. Ran would be particularly upset to think the boy was hurt that badly. Even he hoped the little one somehow landed on his feet. The first time was rarely easy, especially for an unwilling slave, but he never would have thought Ichigo would be so rough that a healer was needed.

"Must be quite a looker to get the prince that riled. Better than me, even?"

He gasped as a rough hand suddenly grabbed his hardening cock. Ikkaku started aggressive, but Yumichika knew that the harsh hold would soften, that gasps and grunts would give way to sighs and moans. This lover had a very soft, sweet side that did not stay hidden for long.

"Not possible. No one's even seen the slut, but no matter what he's like, he's not you. He could have a diamond cock and a gold-plated ass, he still wouldn't be as pretty as you."

The giggle was genuine after that. Ikkaku's crude version of high-romance, and he found it perfectly endearing. He would have Ikkaku three times, at least, more if he could. He tilted his head back, wishing he could allow more than just the light kisses as everything quickly became more heated. Someday, perhaps, he would be able to proudly show marks from a lover, but for now there were rules. Ikkaku had broken those rules the first few times, back when he was awkward, aggression his macho way to cover his uncertainty. Yumichika had practically trained this client, helped him find his desires and taught him how to truly enjoy his magnificent body.

"You know, I think I might know who it is. And you have seen him, dearest."

Now what had possessed him to say that? Get information, do not give, especially when it came to protecting one of your own. But Ikkaku was honorable, and close to the prince. Maybe it would not hurt to put an idea in his head. Someday, it may benefit the little one to have someone like Ikkaku aware of his existence.

"Hmm?" muffled against his throat.

"Remember the short boy with white hair that nearly knocked us over in the hallway? I had to convince you not to kill him."

Rouge-accented eyes met his. Yumichika's own idea, a playful moment, sitting on that ripped chest and decorating the severe face with color. Ikkaku had been surprised with the results. He loved seeing the man continue to adorn himself, and wondered if he always did it now, or only he came to see Yumichika.

"That rude little shit! No way, what is he, like 12?"

He groaned and winced at the same time, clutching at long, lean sides of solid muscle. Ikkaku's hand had not released him, in fact, had gotten tighter in surprise. Seeming to realize it, the man lightened his hold a little and kissed him in apology, tongue as dominating as the rest of him, and ever so delicious.

"Well, the prince can be a pervert on his own time. He'll never know what he's missing."

Gods forbid Ikkaku ever find out about him and Ichigo. It had been years, anyway, and it wasn't like Yumichika had a choice of who entered his bed or his body. Sure, he could have someone blacklisted for breaking rules, and he had gotten away with turning down a few repulsive clients thanks to his status as top male. But when it came down to it his power was a balancing act, give and take, and if he pushed too hard he would be worth less to Gin than he earned.

His hands ran up to powerful shoulders, gripping as lips moved to his chest and the large hand started to ease from sudden jerks to long strokes. And he _moaned_. Not his rehearsed moans, but the true sounds of desire few heard. He wondered if Ikkaku could tell the difference. Part of him still hoped not. Pathetic enough to be a whore in love. Much worse to be discovered, then discarded, the value of the professional who demanded nothing suddenly ruined.

"Oh, Ikkaku! Please . . . I want you. Please don't make me wait."

A whore's line, no doubt, but he meant every word. There were no rules against him leaving marks, though not all clients approved. This one did, and he bit down on the hard shoulder as he was suddenly and completely filled. In this, too, Ikkaku was savage at first. Not that he minded, it was delightful to feel him, to be startled and abused just enough to make it feel new.

He need not remind himself to show enthusiasm, to wind his smooth legs around the thrusting body above. No fantasies were required to encourage his body to respond, to push his hips in the primal rhythm. His voice soared in genuine ecstasy, and he did not have to waste thought on what name to call. And if there were tears on his cheeks, he was sure his client would see it as proof of his prowess, for who would suspect the most sought after male whore in the city had a heart capable of being broken?


	19. Self-Knowledge

.

 **Chapter 19**

 **Self-Knowledge**

 _"Know Thyself" was written over the portal of the antique world.  
Over the portal of the new world, "Be Thyself" shall be written.  
~Oscar Wilde_

* * *

The door locked only from the inside, to his surprise. He stared into the hallway, cautiously stepping out and looking both ways. It was a wide hall, intermittent lighting leaving sections dim. The walls were paneled in rich, deep red wood. Expensive here, according to the prince. Very expensive. The floor aided the darkness, a deep maroon carpet with black edges. Daring a few steps out, he could see that to his right the hall stretched on quite some way, alcoves with fine vases, statues, all the typical displays of wealth between a number of doors. To the left, similar but getting lighter, maybe three doors before the hallway opened into a better lit space.

There were voices, random noises, none close enough to be clear. No one in sight. It was only a brief temptation to run. He had already reasoned that out more than once, with no weapon, no map, no idea how to survive in the desert if he could even make it out of the endless city. Not an option. Exploring a bit was a greater temptation, but that, too, he resisted. It was the words his owner had spoken regarding those horrid collars that turned his feet back around. 'The emerald makes it clear to anyone who you belong to. It is safer for you to wear one in public, at any rate.'

He was not sure what danger that statement had alluded to, and he did not want to find out. Not for no gain. So, he had gone back, gathered the books that had initially drew him out of bed, and settled at the desk with the barely warm tea that had been left while he slept, wondering when Hanataro would return. Or _if_ Hanataro would return. He chuckled a bit at the memory of the apprentice fleeing the room, then thought about the fact that he could chuckle at all.

Not only could he laugh, he was actually feeling rather relaxed. For one, his head was always clearer when he was alone. When the prince was present, everything was just so intense, so confusing. He could only call what happened a breakdown. No control over his actions, his emotions, it had been terrible, worse in a way than anything that he had experienced. And yet, in the aftermath things seemed clear again. He had been dancing around some of the truths of his situation. Now, it felt like he had been forced to confront reality, the muddled mess of his thoughts wiped clean.

There was no escape. Not anytime soon. So, why waste time and energy worrying about that? His owner would do whatever he pleased with his body in the bedroom and out of it, and parade him around in finery and emerald collars whether he approved or cried about it. So, there was another thing to stop thinking about. He had made errors, massive errors, and been excused. If he made more mistakes, which was almost guaranteed, he had been told to accept the consequences as a man of his rank should. So, he would stop second guessing every step out of fear of the consequences. He would do better, and accept what punishment came as a lord, not as a slave.

And then there was desire. It had not been a lie, when he told his owner that everything the man did to him felt incredible. It was not a lie when he said that he did not want to stop, that their time together was the one good thing he had. Accepting that he was here for a long time, if not forever, then he had a simple choice. He could fight his role as sex slave or he could become resigned to endure what he was forced to do. Or, as Rangiku and Yumichika had suggested, he could rise from the floor and embrace whatever good things he could.

The choice was simple, indeed. It was a fact that his owner had been far less than honorable, using drugs, fear, shame, and even affection as weapons, manipulating his thoughts and feelings. It was also a fact that it worked. If the man walked in this moment, he would be hard pressed not to jump into those strong arms and beg for more. He realized he was staring at nothing, fingers running along his lips as he thought of the kisses, the bliss, and he shook himself. There were truly more important things to think about.

After looking over each, he selected a promising book focused on history and politics from the time when the Kingdom was nothing more than desert tribes and struggling pockets of civilization. A quick flip through showed that the author addressed cultural issues as they changed with the political and economic structure, which should give him some insight into not only what customs were, but why. Understanding his place in this world, understanding his owner, these were the priorities. Nothing was as it seemed, nothing as expected.

ooooooooooOOOOOOOOOOoooooooooo

"Sit down, already, Chad. You're making my neck hurt."

The big man just blinked at him, and then moved to fold his large form into the smallest and most uncomfortable looking chair in the room. Years of familiarity with the guard's oddities helped him hold back a laugh. Years of familiarity with the royal bastard turned prince had apparently not made a dent in the solemn formality that seemed more habit than choice.

"Better," he looked back down at the surprisingly tiny handwriting covering two sheets of paper spread out on the low table, "I can't believe it. How did you talk Starrk into this?"

"His idea, sir."

If it were anyone else, Ichigo would ask them to elaborate. But after 20 minutes of catching up with Chad, he knew the guard had probably exhausted his monthly quota of words already. He could see it, anyway, what Starrk would be thinking. The man himself wouldn't come in from the field unless he had his legs chopped off. It wasn't a love of the fight. In fact, the man avoided all but the necessary conflicts, the ones that people told stories about. That gave him a reputation; people assumed he was so grand and bloodthirsty that he sought out the great battles and found petty quarrels beneath his notice. The truth was that he only wanted to roam the desert, linger in the shade of oasis, ride through the desert nights with his strike force of hand-selected warriors. A few unavoidable wars were a small price to pay.

He had met the Coyote, as everyone in the army called him, during his military training. Since then, he had kept as close as he could without becoming a nuisance. A few times a year, he'd spend a week riding with the squad, a wonderful week in the vast wilderness. Whenever he needed a particularly fierce sword at his back, such as during the annual hunts, Starrk never turned him down, sending his best. And he made sure that the few requests sent in for better horses, better equipment, or the transfer of talent into the Coyote's squad were never turned down.

"He actually came to the city and sought you out?"

"No, sir. They did."

Confident, and with reason. He wouldn't turn Starrk down on this, either. If it were anyone else, he would suspect the placement of spies or assassins, and for just that reason he had planned on taking in two guards from two different sources. But again, Starrk had no interest in wielding power in Las Noches. Power, yes, but his domain was the open sands. Having been in the city on his Ascension Day, the warrior did not stay for the parties, instead retreating into the dunes with his squad. Whether he showed up for the wedding was anyone's guess.

"Can't argue that they aren't qualified. Do you feel like you can work with them both? And that they'll follow your orders?"

"Yes, sir."

Sometimes he really liked the silence and simplicity. If Chad said 'yes,' then that was it. He looked back down at the list, names and details, skills, connections, extremely precise and well researched. Everything Chad did not say with words, right there in the pages of quickly gathered intelligence. There were many good candidates, top warriors with unique skills and a history of loyalty and bravery.

But two of Starrk's own squad? Slightly rebellious, all of them, with wide streaks of independence tamed by the total dominance and prowess of their commander. He had worked with both, of course, had known them for years. He would take them both. Someday, he would figure out why, what could possibly have motivated them. A few of the Coyote's squad lived to settle with a family, a few were younger nobles called back home, but most vowed to stay in the desert following their commander until the sands took their blood.

"Fine. That makes things simple. Make the offer. Starting tomorrow with the wedding, so you'll need to make sure they can follow protocol at least for that, and you can finish breaking them in after."

Funny, they were both nearly as quiet as Chad. They both could talk, could be quite rowdy on occasion, but on duty they were watchful, serious, and surprisingly deadly. Neither looked dangerous, especially compared to the more typical warriors. Izuru, a younger son of the Kira family, looked like a courtier, a frail and morose one at that. Nelliel, a rare find, a true desert warrior who left the tribes, too pretty and kind to be taken seriously. He liked that about them, and about Starrk. The man never let appearances fool him when selecting fighters.

He was slightly disappointed that the opportunity didn't tempt his favorite sparring partner away from the desert squad. He would love to have Grimmjow in his service, as a guard, an assassin, a companion like Renji, anything. But he knew that wouldn't work. Grimm in a cage would be a disaster. As strong and unpredictable as a sandstorm, the maniac would end up fighting with every person in the palace, including Ichigo, including the King. Out in the sands, the man's unruly nature was an asset rather than a liability.

He stayed and relaxed in the quiet sitting room for a while after he finished with Chad. Responsibilities. Just a few days ago, keeping his hide intact was his biggest concern, preparing for his future a close second. Running a Kingdom wasn't easy, but it was not emotionally trying, the impact on individuals you did not love easier to handle for the greater interest of the Kingdom as a whole. Now . . . a wife, a lover, their servants, three guards for him, an entire team for his wife, and at some point, he needed to get a servant or two of his own. He no longer had time for simple things like cleaning his own quarters, drawing his own bath even, not without sacrificing the time stolen for more pleasant diversions.

And that was just the bare basics. He couldn't even find the time to figure out his little white-haired enigma, not enough time to spend with him, no time to pin down Gin or anyone else who might know more about Toshiro than he did. And now he had to deal with the issues and emotions of all these people. Or he could ignore their problems. He had never been one to coddle the weak, to try to teach those who could not learn. Those who lifted themselves and managed their own lives would be worth what time he had to spare.

ooooooooooOOOOOOOOOOoooooooooo

The sound of the lock turning pulled his attention away from the text. This time he did not assume, turning to look and seeing Hanataro pushing a trolley in through the door. The small man was leaning into his task as if it was the most difficult thing he had ever done, so Toshiro quickly got up to help, pulling on the opposite side of the trolley which he now saw was loaded down with dinner. He must have read for hours, and it seemed like days since lunch, as his stomach vehemently reminded him of hunger he had been ignoring.

Hanataro looked up, startled after tripping when the weight of the trolley moved. It really was not that heavy, and he eyed the sagging form. The apprentice blushed when their eyes met, as expected. He just pulled the cart closer to the desk, moved the books to the floor, and started shifting items onto the cleared surface to make more room.

"I can . . . um."

"You can get the door, please. I've had enough of people walking in unexpectedly."

He glanced to see the red face darken. Surely all that blood rushing to the head repeatedly couldn't be good for the system. He would not tease again, the poor guy had been through enough, and looked ready to collapse. By the time the apprentice had returned, he already had everything set up, one meal on the trolley, one on the desk, and an extra chair pulled from against the wall. He moved to pour small glasses of wine, or at least he presumed it was wine. The cloudy liquid was definitely alcoholic, according to his nose.

"Uh . . . Toshiro? I should be doing that?"

"Was that a statement or a question? Just sit. You don't look well."

"What happened to your . . . the chains?"

"Don't worry, I'm not trying to escape or anything. My master took them off."

A choking noise. An odd servant to pick for tending a whore, when he was so easily flustered by him calling his master by that title. What would be more acceptable, 'my owner,' or 'my captor' maybe? He wasn't sure which sounded more demeaning, but then, truth was truth, as ugly as it was.

"I'm starving. Go on, you must be hungry, too."

"I should eat after you, in my own room."

The man sat, even while voicing the timid protest.

"Hanataro, are you a slave?"

"What?" The blue eyes looked suddenly indignant, as well they might. "Of course not."

"Well, I am. Is that why you do not want to share a meal with me? It's offensive to you?"

He asked casually, trying not to cause more offense when he was honestly interested in the answer. Uncovering the plates while he spoke, he could feel his stomach clench in anticipation. Desert food was appealing, to his surprise. Not as varied as back home where one could expect a cornucopia of meats, fishes, fruits, vegetables at every meal. Here, there were more grains and meats, and in just the few meals the same vegetables made repeat appearances. But the spices! Everything was so complex, every dish completely different, even every bite bringing new, delightful tastes. It made the food of Seireitei seem bland and boring.

"No, that's not . . . it's not proper. I'm a paid servant. You're a royal mistress."

More blushing, and he smirked as he debated which of the foreign dishes to try first. While his companion sputtered and fell silent, he lifted a forkful of dark meat coated in darker sauce from a bed of rice. He closed his eyes as he bit down. A little heat to this one, numbing his tongue at first, making it more sensitive to the flood of flavors that followed as he chewed. Someday, perhaps he could get to the kitchens and talk to the cooks. Better yet, find the gardens and the gardeners. Some of these spices would be remarkable on fish, especially the meaty fish from the deep ocean.

"Mmmm. What kind of meat is this, Hanataro?"

That prompted the man to reach for a fork and at least poke at the main course.

"That is goat. And there's a little bit of lamb in the bread, I think."

"Goat? Really? I would have thought a goat would taste awful."

He took another generous bite, watching as the timid man debated whether to eat or keep arguing about propriety.

"It can. I remember hating it as a child. It depends on the cook, I think. And the palace cooks are the best. You should drink some of this with it."

A glass of something white, barely thin enough to be considered liquid. He had assumed it was something to be eaten with a spoon, perhaps a dessert. He took a drink as directed. It was a sour yogurt, just a hint of some salt, and surprisingly it went very well with the food, cooling the hotter spices and making the next bite seem entirely new.

"Very good. And these? There were some at lunch, too. I liked them quite a lot."

"Lentils. Very nutritious and good for the digestion. You'll find them in rice, in stews, mixed with meats, even in bread."

Hanataro had taken a bite after he spoke. As he thought, the man was easily distracted, and when distracted seemed more intelligent and confident. He continued to ask about the food as they ate, the tension forgotten for the moment.

He had thought to ask Hanataro some serious questions, but reconsidered. Perhaps if the man had not been so traumatized by walking in on such a scene, but it had happened and there wasn't much he could do about the recurring blushes, the stuttering awkwardness whenever the careful conversation lapsed for a few minutes. Progress was being made establishing a shallow camaraderie, a level of comfort that would make it easier to get to the truth in a day, two, however long it took. He could read more, anyway, get a better idea of what exactly he needed to ask.

"I wanted to thank you for the books, Hanataro. You made some very good choices; I've learned a lot already, starting with the history of how the kingdom came to be. Terribly interesting, such adventurous people to settle here, even if they had no choice."

The young man laughed a little, nervously. "Don't let any old lords hear you say that. They each think their family was born from the sands."

"A matter of pride, is it?"

"Well, if their ancestor's settled the desert, that makes them all foreigners, outcasts and criminals chased out of other kingdoms. It hardly fits with their image."

He laughed at that, and his companion dropped his fork in alarm before quickly recovering and even offering a shy smile.

"And your family? Are they that high and mighty?"

Immediately he wished he could take back those words as the smile vanished and the eyes took on that wounded-puppy look the apprentice was so very good at. He refilled their glasses, though his was empty while Hanataro had barely touched the aromatic alcohol.

"I apologize. My tongue often runs away before my brain can catch it. I'm rather famous for it, actually. I didn't mean to pry."

"No. That's . . . I mean, um. I don't know my family. I know who they were, just a normal family in a remote village, but I don't really remember them. I was disowned when I was four."

He blinked. It would have been polite to shut the hell up. "Four? What possible offense could a four-year-old commit to justify being disowned?"

"The one offense a four-year-old cannot be forgiven. Being weak."

Of course. He could have slapped himself. It was legendary even in Seireitei, the barbaric practice of discarding frail children by leaving them to be eaten by wild animals or perish of thirst in the desert. He remembered being surprised when he met the young healer, such a small and slight man was unexpected. Once he had reasoned that he himself would have been cast out to die had he been born in Hueco Mundo.

"Well done proving their error."

"What?" The blue eyes widened at him, shaken a little from melancholy.

"Apprentice to the royal family's healer, trusted by the prince who trusts few, and I suspect a future as the most learned man in the kingdom. Any family who cast you aside is a family of fools, clearly. But I'm sure they are consoled for their stupidity by their goats and their acres of sand."

He ignored the hint of tears as he cleared off some clutter to set out the last plate. Finally, his brain was catching up with his tongue. Desserts here suited him, too, so far. Instead of heavy cakes and sugary creams that he had always avoided, there was a plate of nuts, fruit fresh and dried, bite-sized chunks of cheese, and a small section of honeycomb. He could make a meal out of that alone.

"I'm not sure we have any room left for dessert, but let's do our best."

ooooooooooOOOOOOOOOOoooooooooo

After far too much discussion and being dressed and undressed a dozen times, she had stared in the mirror in wonder. Last week when she had briefly tried on the wedding dress for the final adjustments, this morning when she had donned the dress for her arrival in Las Noches, those were the only times she had experienced such luxury. The chosen gown was not the prince's favored red, but royal emerald, what Isane called a 'power play,' since the only emerald she could wear before the wedding was the one ring sent to her from the prince to formalize the engagement.

The silver-haired lady chatted away, all shyness gone, brushing her hair to a glossy shine before adding fine golden chains hinting at the royal diadem she would soon wear. Gold everywhere, brocade, necklaces, bracelets, all the way to anklets and embroidery on her slippers. She thought it was too much, but Isane argued that it was needed for this, the first meeting of the household. Well, most of the household. Only 7 of the 13 mistresses of the King would be there, according to Isane.

And the dress! Form fitting didn't begin to describe it, cut low in front with sewn-in firm pads that pushed her breasts up far too much. Her entire left arm bare while the right was covered all the way past her wrist. As if that was not scandalous enough, it was made with oval openings in the sides, leaving her skin visible along her waist from rib to hip. The skirt, too, cut low on the right and high on the left, so that when she walked even her left thigh showed in flashes between the green and gold. She might as well walk around stark naked!

Female warriors in the tribes, like Tatsuki, dressed in even less, at least indoors and when the sun was down. But she had never shown more than an inch of skin. If she had not seen the noble ladies on the streets of Las Noches, if it weren't for the equally outlandish clothing in the wardrobe, she would never have believed this was acceptable. It was terrifying, and exciting, a combination that she was starting to become familiar with.

In contrast, Tatsuki was fidgeting under what she deemed as far too much clothing. More modestly dressed, like Isane, from the mysteriously stocked wardrobe in the servant quarters, she was lovely and feminine and she hated it. But Tatsuki would put up with it for her, to not leave her alone to face a room full of strangers. Not for the first time, she wondered what she had done to deserve such a good friend.

All the nerves, the almost sick feeling in her stomach, it was all worth it when Isane escorted them into the sumptuous dining hall. When countless sets of eyes turned her way, the room falling silent, she thought she might turn and run. But then he stood, and boldly she looked at him instead of looking down as she had been taught. As he walked forward, the rest of the room became a blur, only his wide smile and the glittering approval in his eyes mattered.

As her prince bent low over her right hand, kissing the ring he had given her, she made the mistake of glancing up. The table was full of beautiful women in a fortune of finery. The King himself at the head of the table, and there at the King's left hand, the craggy, scarred face, the sneer that was so much worse than when he frowned, and she shivered in fear. What had she been thinking? Risking no gloves, no veil was one thing. But dressed like this?

Sight of her guardian was lost as the prince straightened, and she tried to erase the terror that must have shown as his eyes narrowed and his head cocked slightly. Then he smiled again, and she focused on that instead.

"Orihime, you look magnificent. Head high, my dear. This is your court, don't forget that."

She drew a deep breath and smiled back in gratitude. She was no longer Kenpachi's property. _She was his_. This was what she had been trained for. Inadequately, trained more for wifely duties than to face the court and its politics. But she could do this, and she placed her hand on her prince's arm with more confidence than she expected, and a growing glee as they walked together to the table, everyone including her guardian forced to stand when the King rose to show her respect.

He could sneer all he wanted. No veils, no gloves, a truly risqué sexuality in her appearance, and he could do nothing about it unless he wanted to try to break off the engagement just to spite her. She knew enough of the reputations of the King and his son to know how that would end, and she smiled again as she broke the traditions of the tribes to curtsy before the King politely, knees and neck bending gracefully, a move she had practiced in secret since the news of who she would wed.

Her prince beamed as he settled her at the seat to his right, one seat down and across from the now glaring desert warrior. She wished Tatsuki and Isane could have sat with her, instead of near the far end of the table. The brave front she put on held, but she could not look her guardian defiantly in the eye as she wanted to, could not offer him a condescending smile. But she could ignore him entirely as the chattering began again, the men to her left picking up some interrupted conversation about horses, the ladies to her right and in front of her introducing themselves and trading compliments which she tried to return without sounding timid. Isane's advice helped, to simply stay silent and nod when she was not sure.

The first course arrived just in time, right as the comments between the sophisticated ladies started to turn spiteful. Not at her, not yet, but at each other. Rivalry within a harem was a dangerous thing, she had been taught, and could be deadly. That was one reason she wanted to meet her prince's lover, to try to prevent any animosity while there was only one to deal with. Thankfully, tension lessened a bit as attention shifted to the food, and she jumped when a low voice whispered close to her.

"You're doing very well. Do not mind them; they are mostly harmless to you, only using their fangs on each other. I will tell you which to be cautious around later. Across from you is the favorite, Shutara. For now, just don't piss her off and you'll be fine."

She giggled before she knew it, both at the relief of having support and the fact that a man said piss to her. Her guardian was crude and cruel, but no other man in the tribes would dream of using rough words around her, and with such a playful tone. She caught his grin, and in his eyes a look she'd never seen from anyone but Tatsuki . . . pride.

"Thank you, Your Highness. The ladies have been very kind."

"For now," he grinned again. "You want to have a little fun and put them on notice? In a few minutes I'll speak to you again. Answer loud enough for them to hear and call me Ichigo. Just Ichigo. Then watch their faces and try not to laugh."

She blinked in astonishment as he turned away, but barely had a chance to think about it as the lady next to her regained her attention to ask if she enjoyed hunting. Nearly all women in the tribe could hunt. Not her. Another way her guardian isolated her, protecting the precious bauble he would sell off for a high price. It was obvious in the next moments that nearly all the mistresses hunted, falconry at least, and the favorite bragged of her skill with a bow. Maybe she would be able to learn these things? The thought of being able to simply walk about the palace with an escort had been thrilling. To ride into the open desert on a hunt, allowed to participate? The very idea made her a little faint.

Another pause as her barely touched plate of greens was removed and replaced with a new treat. Fish were rarely on the tribe's menu; only a few could be caught at the larger oases to protect the population. She was delighted enough to see the flaky white flesh that she reached for her fork and took a bite so quickly that she heard a chuckle to her left.

"Do you like fish, Orihime?"

"Oh, very much, Ichigo. It's one of my favorites!"

A gasp to her right, a clatter of a dropped fork somewhere, and a short hush followed by murmurs. She looked at her prince's subtle smirk, spotted the equally amused expression on the King's face, disgusted anger from her guardian, and remembered almost too late to glance around the table as the ladies began to recover from the shock. There was a flash of rage quickly concealed on the favorite's face, right after the prince had warned her not to antagonize the woman. Most just looked jealous, with a couple of sly smiles that she suspected were anticipation, hoping to see her chastised.

"I'll let the cooks know. Good thing there's a fish course planned for our wedding feast. I'll want to know all your favorites, my dear."

More whispers, and she hoped she wasn't looking as nervous as she suddenly felt. The way that Shutara's eyes narrowed at her as she began whispering to her guardian of all people made a chill run down her spine. What could she possibly have to say to the Kenpachi that would have them both grinning? But then a handsome face leaned close again, words just for her.

"That will keep them yapping for days. Well done!"

What motivated her to be so bold, she did not know. Perhaps the fun she had not expected, the warm regard she had never known from a man, or simply the glamour and the wine.

"My prince, I begin to suspect that you are a base scoundrel who will get me into nothing but trouble."

"Oh, my princess, I certainly hope so."

ooooooooooOOOOOOOOOOoooooooooo

He stared at the open book, though it was hard to concentrate as Hanataro cleaned the brand, still raw from the scrubbing the healer had given it. The apprentice was gentler, but businesslike and thorough. He hid the discomfort as best he could, hissing only a bit when new antiseptic stung the cleaned wound. He waved the hesitant youth away when there was a knock at the door, not bothering to put his jacket back on and focusing finally on a few lines. Perhaps he should be worried about who would be at the door, the prince had a key and no one else had a reason to be here, that he knew of. But he just couldn't bring himself to care about anything except the knowledge recently gained and the implications. Then again, the three glasses of alcohol may have something to do with his nonchalance, he acknowledged. That stuff was a lot stronger than wine.

The voices behind him were quiet enough, he was able to finish the paragraph before the sound of his name interrupted. With a resigned sigh he stood and turned. The visitor was a woman, and his attention was caught by pale gray, almost silver hair though her face said she was young, certainly not much more than 20 if not younger. If it was not bleached, she was as close to his own predicament of eye-catching white as he'd ever seen. Her clothing was expensive, formal, with valuable jewelry. A woman of rank, then. And as he walked closer his neck bent back, taller even than the prince.

"Toshiro, this is Lady Isane. She has come to escort you to meet Lady Orihime."

There was a rosiness in her cheeks as she looked at him, then at his chest, then away. Embarrassed by him being bare to the waist? No, he thought with a faint smirk, by the marks left on him, bold bruises on his pale skin. Not allowing himself to feel ashamed was turning out to be quite entertaining already.

"Lady Orihime?"

"Yes," the silver-crowned giant replied, "the fiancée of Prince Aizen Ichigo and the future Princess of Hueco Mundo."

So much for his calm and cool demeanor he was so proud of. His brows shot up in surprise.

"I see. Can five minutes be spared? Hanataro was just finishing medical care."

"Yes, of course. My lady should be returning from dinner with the King and the Prince soon."

Politics. Maybe she simply relayed facts in her way, but he instantly recognized the tone, the way she made connections known to drive home the identity of the one summoning him. And Hanataro's complete lack of interference meant that he was expected to obey. With polite thanks he returned to his seat, welcoming the numbing slave and the chance to think with his face hidden. He had hoped to see the prince tonight. The chains were off, but they still were there, attached to the bed. He was still an owned thing. Now he could only hope that this meeting was not something his owner would disapprove of.

Pulling on his jacket, he walked to the wardrobe as he buttoned, checking his appearance in the long mirror within the door. Clothing acceptable, no jewelry which would just have to do, hair a wild mess as always and not worth the effort to try to tame. The marks on his neck . . . leave them exposed? It would be an answering assertion of his position but possibly hostile considering she was not even married. No. No need to be unkind, to start off by blatantly advertising that her soon-to-be husband had recently marked another.

A fine scarf, thin linen more decorative than warming, not inappropriate in the cooling desert evening and quite effective at covering the evidence of passion. The green did not match but did not clash with the royal blue, and he saw an approving nod from the lady before moving to pull on the soft slippers that seemed standard indoor wear. These, he liked. A fine idea, better than trudging through the house in dirty boots, more refined than padding around barefoot or in socks like he had always done.

Finally prepared, he hid the hint of anxiety brought on not by meeting the future princess, but by his own ignorance. He would simply have to play it like a meeting with an unknown lord. Polite, vague, not subservient or dominating, not giving away any more about himself than he had to. Hanataro did not follow them out the door but did not look worried. In fact, his cheerful goodbyes to the lady made it seem like they might be on friendly terms. That, at least, was a relief. Hanataro did not seem the kind to befriend dangerous or mean-spirited people.

He followed, to the left, the shorter and brighter section of hallway. The next door was wider and ornate, unlike the fine but plain door to his room, followed by three more matching doors. On the other side of the hallway were doors like his, then two wide double sets of doors. He took in all these details, never knowing what may later be helpful. The hall let out onto a wide balcony, marble staircases spiraling up and down to his left, and far away on the right. The view was impressive, a grand entryway with mosaic floors, three story ceilings, and too much decoration and open space to truly absorb all the details. There were at least twenty people below, walking or talking in small groups, and a number of guards silently around the perimeter.

And right there, down the stairs, across the wide expanse of mosaic floor, between the tall pillars, massive open doors. Fresh night air pouring in through those doors, through the wide windows above. Open sky and freedom, right there. Useless to worry about it. He swallowed temptation and had to hurry a little to catch up to the naturally long stride. The balcony led to another hallway, a mirror image of the first with matching décor, doors plain and closer together. At the third of these on his right, they stopped.

All this was done in silence, and he stayed quiet while the door was unlocked, raising a brow when the lady gave a slight bow and stepped aside for him to enter. Even bowed, she towered over him as he walked into an empty bedroom, fine but not as large or as well appointed as his own. He did not ask, immediately reasoning that these were not her permanent quarters, either temporary or borrowed as a neutral meeting place. There was only one chair, at a small table, so he walked in, turned and addressed the woman still in the doorway.

"Lady Isane, may I ask why . . ."

"My lady will be here shortly."

The door closed.

"Guess not."

He sighed and debated a moment. She may keep him waiting, it was a standard tactic to enforce superiority. He would give it five minutes of polite standing around. Then he'd make himself as comfortable as possible no matter how rude it seemed. Hands clasped behind his back, he watched his feet as he slowly paced and thought.

His timing was terrible, not that he'd had any choice in the matter. Resolving a large portion of his inner turmoil, just to be confronted with a new challenge, one he had no time to prepare for and no idea what to expect. He had never thought the day would come when he wished to remain ignorant just a day or two longer, just enough to regain his balance before being thrown off again.

Until today, he had assumed his owner was already married long before Toshiro came along, laid out on his royal bed like a sacrifice. Now, the terrible timing. Just as he admits desire, acknowledges the need to explore that desire, the attention of the man who brought out these feelings would be taken away. Not jealous, not exactly. But it would likely make things more difficult, slower then he would now like. Well, it wasn't like he was going anywhere.

Sounds from the hallway, footsteps, too loud for a dainty princess so likely her guards. He straightened himself, gratified she did not keep him waiting long after all. At first, he was not alarmed. The gruff voice could belong to the guard or anyone, though it seemed too loud, too strident, and quickly coming closer. Then the woman, the voice he recognized though they had barely spoken. She must have been waiting outside the door.

The first exchange of shouts was muffled by distance and the closed door, but the tone was clearly hostile. Immediately he scanned the room. Not much that would serve as a weapon, and not much time. On the table, a hand mirror, a soft brush with a firm wooden handle, a metal straight-toothed comb. That would have to do. He tucked the comb barely into his sleeve to keep it in place, metal comfortingly cool and solid in his palm, and he started toward the door just as it was flung open with a thud.

His eyes sought the lady first, and he could just see part of her, back flattened to the wall behind the hulking figure. Shoved, most likely, though he would not have blamed her if she had backed straight into that wall to get away from the man who glared at him and then around the room.

"Where is that little cunt? Come out, my sweet princess!"

"Sir! These are private rooms. You are not welcome here."

He was surprised that his voice was calm and firm. The beady green eyes settled back on him and he prayed for a sword. And an army. He had seen much bigger, but Jidanbo never looked like a demon coming for your blood. Everything about the scarred, eye-patched face screamed murder. Every unnaturally sharp tooth bared in an evil smile, every bulging muscle strained to reach out and rip him apart.

"What's this? You the little boy that pretty prince sends to do his dirty work? You already fuck her, kid?"

The beast took a solid step closer, nearly within range to reach out and flatten him like a bug. He did not back up, though some part of his mind was demanding he run. Another part was reacting to those offensive words and the undeserved threat, becoming coldly furious.

"She hidin' behind you, shorty?"

He ducked under the hand that swiped at his head, dismayed at the speed of the move. He had hoped the sheer size of the man would make him slow. There was more open space beside him now, two doors in the wall behind, likely dead ends but perhaps he could make it across the bed to the door. A stroke of luck, the monster was more interested in finding the prince's fiancée than in continuing the attack. He started to move, betting on the dash across the bed.

"You're mine, you filthy whore!"

He froze. Rage and outrage warred with reason and self-preservation.

"Showin' yourself off like a bitch in heat, worthless slut."

"SILENCE! How dare you speak so of my prince's lady? Leave, sir, before you disgrace yourself further."

Stupid. _Stupidstupidstupid_. Yet his hand slid the pathetic bit of metal down and gripped hard, body trembling with anger, and with sensible fear. A mouse with a needle facing down a lion. Stupid. For the honor of a man who held him captive and a woman he'd never met. And for his own honor, for no decent man could allow this to continue. A slave he may be now, but he would behave as a lord should, as his father and his uncle had shown him by their own examples.

His foolish bravado lost him the one chance to escape, and the brute was even faster now. He tried to evade again, pain registering before he knew he had failed, the massive hand closing around his throat and pulling him off the ground and closer to the nightmare of a man. Close enough, he put everything he could into one swing, aiming the sharp metal teeth at the thick neck. Stars and agony exploded in his head, slammed against the wall. That hand could snap his neck, could tighten and strangle him, but it did not. His killer was going to play with him a bit, he knew.

He had missed. That big head had moved, and he had achieved only a deep cut across the cheek and jaw, comb now fallen and hands clasping the thick wrist. It laughed, loud guffaws, malicious and stinking of alcohol and death. Just a little more, he had enough time for just a bit more damage. Pushing his feet off the wall, he swung his body up, left leg wrapping around that tree trunk of an arm and giving him momentum to slam his right foot into the wicked teeth.

It hurt. Shaken like a rat in a dog's jaws and flung, hitting the wall behind the bed, head barely missing colliding with the hard bedpost. Collapsing onto the mattress was the most pleasant sensation he could imagine. The order to his body to roll off the edge, to move away from where his attacker would expect him to be, to try to scramble to cover, ignored. A few unobstructed breaths before death, that's all he asked, and all he was likely to get.

* * *

 **A/N** \- Thanks for the reviews **DenIchi Hitsugaya** and **Princessatz**! Yeah, Princessatz, I felt like I owed Orihime a good role after writing her sad part in 'Trauma.' She's too sweet to treat that badly.  
Enjoy that cliffhanger!


	20. Beautiful

.

 **Chapter 20**

 **Beautiful**

 _And beauty is not a need but an ecstasy. It is not a mouth thirsting nor an empty hand stretched forth, but rather a heart enflamed and a soul enchanted.  
~Kahlil Gabran_

Many thoughts raced through his mind, all in the background, ignored. It was one of the gifts that made him the famed fighter he was, the separation of consciousness that allowed action without the delay of emotion. Returning from an entertaining dinner and a romantic stroll through the night-blooming gardens, his peace was shattered. Aware immediately of trouble when he heard shouting, when he saw the frightened woman in the hallway staring horrified at the open doorway. Aware of placing his princess in Chad's hands, of the slight lady in waiting for some reason on his heels as he rushed to the door while drawing his sword. And the last acknowledgment of the outside world was the clear image of his precious gift, choked by the hand of the Kenpachi who laughed through a mask of blood.

Instinct, bolstered by intelligence and training, another gift. If his mind took the time to analyze and discard plans of attack, it was done so quickly that even he was not cognizant of it. He simply moved, fast, silent, in a way that felt as natural as breathing. That was the way of it. Whatever terror and regret followed, battles were quiet and peaceful events, nothing required but to move as instinct guided.

A half foot taller than him, outweighing him 60 pounds at least, a reputation for speed despite size, slowing him down was the first requirement. Perhaps the opponent would have been able to evade or counter, but the third combatant, the one pinned to the wall had attacked and was the focus of attention. The enemy, distracted, began to turn too late, throwing the smaller opponent before moving to attack, staggering a step closer before the catastrophic damage registered, left leg collapsing as the bloody, broken maw opened in a howl of pain.

It was a nightmare sight to the waking mind, the face badly damaged, broken nose, shattered teeth, a deep slice opening the cheek, blood bubbling as it screamed from being cleanly, brutally hamstrung. A nightmare made flesh, and it made him smile as his body used already established momentum to spin, bringing clenched fists and hilt around a heartbeat ahead of the reaching arms, colliding with his enemy's temple with a solid enough impact to kill most. The mountain of a man dropped limp to the floor.

Threat neutralized, his grip shifted automatically to bring the tip of his sword down, braced at the base of the neck to end life if the downed enemy so much as twitched. Only then, as safe as he could be without finishing the kill, only then did the world return, first in the quick scan for danger, then in the steady rush of waking from a night's deep sleep.

His eyes were on the black-haired girl, a couple of steps behind to his right, gauging the threat. In her hand, a long knife common in the tribes, uncommon for a lady in waiting, her weight braced in a way that suggested she had planned to attack. Now she stood with mouth agape, staring at her chief. A whisper of a growl and she looked at him, flinching as she met his eyes and nearly dropping that knife. He approved of her nerve, the wiry form straightening and sheathing the knife beneath a fold of her clothing as she looked down and away submissively.

No other threats.

"Chad!"

Seconds later the guard was by him, reaching down to check vitals and then bind the unconscious man's hands tightly behind him. He heard the choked scream as he stepped back to sheath his sword, and he turned his head again. Orihime, both hands covering her mouth, shaking as the two other women held onto her from either side, a perfect picture of feminine distress. No love lost between her and her guardian, he knew that the instant he met her. But such a tender heart, would she be angry that he had harmed her kin? A problem for later, he reasoned.

Another movement, the white-haired head drooping as Toshiro pushed at the bedspread, lifting onto shaking arms before looking up. The question of what the boy was doing here at all was forgotten. Blue and black silk, blue and white cotton, all splattered with red, and a sick feeling settled in his stomach. He wanted to run to the boy, to find out how much of the blood belonged to the felled warrior, how much to the pretty youth. But there was still a breathing desert lion in the room.

"Easy, Toshiro. Move slow. You're safe now."

He spoke calming words as he dropped to a knee, taking the towel Chad had efficiently retrieved from the bathroom and wiping his blade before tying the towel tight around the deep cut, adding his belt above to reduce blood loss. There would still be a messy trail all the way to Unohana's infirmary. He helped the guard hoist the desert chief across his back, all the while his mind analyzed the scene and the memories of the encounter, the details that were stored during the action and now recalled.

Kenpachi had been wounded. Toshiro had no knife, but there was a comb on the blood-soaked carpet. Just as he had been moving to strike, his mind had noted the enemy's distraction, the small body contorted in a move of strength and either training or natural talent fueled by desperation. His deceptively delicate pet had wrapped himself around the arm that was killing him and made a lovely mess of his attacker's face with a solid kick. If the Kenpachi survived, he would sport a much uglier visage along with the lame leg that would likely end his reign in the largest of the tribes.

His almost father-in-law safely restrained and on his way to live or die in Unohana's hands, he turned his eyes where they had wanted so badly to go. His pet had been helped to sit, propped on several pillows. The face even paler than usual was being gently wiped clean by a green scarf held by none other than his fiancée. The stunned eyes focused on him, blinking slowly but clearing of confusion. There was no fear in those eyes, of what had happened or of him. In fact, a faint smile, a look of admiration flashed and then concealed as the turquoise gaze drifted back to the gentle lady sitting close.

"Are you injured?"

He stopped behind Orihime, wiping his hand carefully on a clean section of his jacket before placing it on her shoulder. The red circling his pet's slender neck angered him, but he saw no wounds as blood was removed, no rips in clothing that would hint at cuts.

"I'm a little dizzy, my head aches, and my foot, that's all."

Staring for a moment, worry started to recede.

"Then you are well enough to explain what the hell happened, and what you were doing here to begin with."

Surprisingly, the turquoise eyes took on the guarded look they gave to strangers, the keen tongue fell silent. It was his lady that flinched at the snap of his voice, the brown eyes looking up over her shoulder, wide and anxious.

"I am to blame, Your Highness. I wanted to meet the entire household before the wedding, so I had Isane send for him." She turned back. "I'm so sorry, Toshiro. I didn't know . . . that man was my guardian, my adoptive father. I made him very angry. It's my fault you were hurt. I'm sorry."

His pet's face softened. "I doubt you or anyone can control that man's actions, My Lady. You have nothing to apologize for."

"That still does not tell me why I had to turn a key ally into an enemy tonight. Why that ally would be driven to murder one of my own."

"I do not know, mas . . . Your Highness." He was sure his stern look was ruined by the rush of astonishment and pleasure. Had his pet nearly called him 'master' in public? "The man was enraged, and drunk, I believe. He entered violently, and within seconds things escalated. He did not even tell me who he was."

"Your Royal Highness, if I may?"

All eyes turned to Isane, standing quiet at the foot of the bed with the young desert warrior masquerading as a lady in waiting. He gave one sharp nod.

"I was waiting by the door after escorting the young lord." The corner of his eye caught the raised brows, as astonished as he had been seconds ago. "The Kenpachi came, already very angry, and demanded to see my lady. He forced me aside, forced the door. Lord Toshiro insisted that he leave, stood right in front of him.

"My prince, it was terrifying. I know if my lady would have been here, he would have harmed or killed her. The vile things he was saying I will not repeat. And my lord was so noble, so brave, defending my lady's honor like a true gentleman, even when he was attacked."

Wide, lovely eyes looked down, white brows drawn tight in thought for a moment, then blinking in surprise again as his cheek was kissed by a future Queen. The bundle of contradictions glared at him when he chuckled low, enjoying the show.

"Well, then. I will expect the full story once you have seen Hanataro and had some rest. Isane, my lady obviously cannot stay here. Have her moved to her true quarters and stay with her tonight. With two of you as witnesses, her honor shall be safe."

Luck. That was another gift somehow bestowed upon him. Some may not see it that way, being born into a brood of murderous bastards, having to claw his way to the top of the refuse pile gilded in gold, his dear mother killed because he caught his father's attention. But he had come through all of it stronger, smarter, and fortune favored him time and again with narrow escapes, strong allies, and unexpected opportunities.

How lucky. The wife who could have been weak, insipid, vicious, stupid, or worse seemed to be none of those things. Perhaps not the strongest Queen he could ask for but showing qualities already that made him expect not just a worthy partner, but one that he may find pleasant company. And then there was the unsought gift that he would have been content to train to be a pleasant diversion, a slave in fact as well as name. The gift he hoped might be more than that, might also be a worthy partner for a King. He smiled at the irritated, prideful little minx. Showing desire and dependence without fully yielding that pride, hiding a past full of experiences that no simple slave should have, now attacking a legendary warrior ten times his size with a comb to defend the honor of those who had not yet earned such sacrifice . . . what had fortune delivered to him this time?

ooooooooooOOOOOOOOOOoooooooooo

"Sleep well and safe, my lady. Tomorrow I shill give you a crown worthy of such a beautiful heart."

There was a lot of talk behind her after the door clicked shut, but she didn't hear a word. It was barely a kiss, hardly worthy of the word, she thought. She knew what a real kiss was, what to expect, a firm joining of lips, a parting and renewal, eventually a caress of tongues. All that she had received was a split second, a slight brush of warm skin. After the tingling in her lips, the shortness of breath, she stared dazed at the closed door.

"Orihime!"

"Hmm?"

She turned slowly, starting to feel a little guilty. Her guardian might be dying now somewhere, alone. She didn't care. Her prince had to fight, put himself at risk. Isane had been frightened nearly to death. And the brave, dignified young lover of her prince had nearly been killed. It was a wonder, really. No one had ever survived the Kenpachi's anger. No one had ever injured the man and lived.

But what brought guilt was her happiness. It just didn't seem like she should feel this way when all this tragedy was playing out around her. She blinked at the bright light and really looked at the room, and she started to laugh. It was just too much. On top of everything else, the grand city, the glittering palace, the handsome prince, too much to see how wrong she had been about the luxury of the guest room she had just left behind.

"Oh, seriously, Hime! Pull yourself together."

Tatsuki was grinning, understanding exactly why she was nearly in hysterics. Her friend had already a chance to gaze in wide-eyed wonder while she had been distracted by honey-brown eyes. Her new rooms were larger than the Kenpachi's tent, far larger than an entire family would share. After all that had happened, everywhere her eyes were meeting riches and wonders so unbelievable that her mind could only shrug with a tired acceptance as they walked from _her_ sitting room into _her_ grand bedroom, warmly decorated with richly colored rugs and tapestries against dark wood. The bed could accommodate five easily, dark and dusky, a shade of purple-blue she had never seen hanging down with a slightly lighter bedspread, the dark accented by silver thread and ropes, silver lacy inner curtains.

A beautiful door with pale wood inlay swung open to reveal Isane, the woman looking worn from the terror she had endured but going about her business with a determined air.

"I thought a hot bath for tonight, my lady, to relax the tension. Perhaps some lavender, or would you prefer something else?"

"Huh?"

Oh, very regal. She tried again, not sure what she was agreeing to.

"Yes, lavender, I do like lavender."

"Very good. Let's get you out of those clothes. Such a lovely dress, so unfortunate. A little stain here or there can be removed, but I'm afraid this will be ruined. Here, my lady, this towel will protect the chair."

Isane kept chatting as she let herself be gently pushed around, landing in a plush, low-backed chair before a dressing table with three mirrors. That's what the woman had been talking about. There was blood all over the right side and front of her gown from gathering up the dazed young man on the bed. Her guardian's blood, Toshiro had been coated in it. She still could not believe it, that someone as small as that had stood up to the mightiest warrior of the desert.

Watching the various bits of gold removed from her hair, hands, wrists, she decided she had been right. Only it hadn't taken a day, her new life had already begun. A life like nothing she had imagined, and despite how scared she had been, she thought it was perfectly delightful, the complete opposite of her life up until now. It had been so dull, fear of Kenpachi the only change in the dreary march of days. She had meant nothing, even her so-called servants ignored her words.

A squeal interrupted her thoughts, and she saw Tatsuki backing out of the open door to the bathroom, hand over her mouth and eyes wide. She leapt to her feet, letting out her own little yelp as the slinky dress fell off, the ties all undone by Isane. Tatsuki lurched toward her, grabbed her hand, and dragged her along bare as the day she was born except for fancy embroidered slippers.

All the other shocks of the day faded as the steaming pool of water came into view, an in-ground basin lined in sparkling tiles, almost full and already as deep and wide as most oases. The carefully composed princess vanished leaving only a pair of squealing girls, one stripping off a dress while the other kicked off slippers. She didn't even worry about all the wasted water splashing up and soaking the floor as they jumped hand-in-hand.

ooooooooooOOOOOOOOOOoooooooooo

Not jealous. Not exactly. Jealousy implied some right to feel cheated, some possession of the thing out of one's reach and into another's. Toshiro had no rights, no possessions. At best, the thought of jealousy was an excuse to distract himself from feeling want at all. He had hoped for one more night. Tomorrow would be swallowed whole by the wedding. The night would, obviously, not belong to him. And he could not expect much of his owner's time for many days after. It would not be right, a newly wed prince in the bed of his slave. So, he had hoped for tonight. Instead, it was perfectly reasonable that a man comfort his fiancée after such catastrophic events.

That he wanted the man's time at all for something other than overdue explanations was one of the things he had decided not to spend another second worrying about. Well, a second here or there was spent worrying whether he willed it or not. He should be happy at the prospect of days and nights free of emotional and physical harassment. A day ago, he would have been ecstatic.

He sighed and sank under the water, relaxing in the coolness. Cool baths, something else he never thought he would like. Even with the dropping temperature of night, he welcomed the refreshing chill. Sitting up, he breathed deep the scent of sakura and vanilla. The bottle had appeared sometime today, and he had smiled when he removed the stopper. A rarity, the prince had called it. A rarity that suited a treasured slave. Or a lord.

"Toshiro?"

He should not have lingered so long. Hanataro had been startled out of sleep by a preoccupied and imperious prince who dragged the healer's apprentice out in his bedclothes to tend injuries that needed no care. The hands that dutifully held cold cloth to the lump on the back of his head were shaking under the royal glare, and they both let out a held breath when the fearsome figure decided that he was not going to die after all and left with barely a nod.

"I'll be right out."

He lingered just a minute more before standing, the air warming cold skin as he stepped out of the water onto the thick rug. Careful with the towel, the brand further irritated by the night's abuse and the long soak, he dried a little and wrapped the cotton robe around him. He added the towel-like robes to the list of things he liked here, a comfortable alternative to scrubbing dry. In the time it would take to go back to his room and have Hanataro bandage up his shoulder, he would be quite dry enough to slip on underwear and a silk robe, the only thing resembling sleeping clothing that he had been provided with. Then Hanataro could get some much-needed rest, and he could lie still and think.

"You . . ."

The door clicked shut behind him. Before him in the dim light of a single bedside candle, the tall form facing away finished unbuttoning the expensive jacket, silk ruined, and casually tossed it aside to land on the floor. Amber light turned tanned skin to molten gold, shadows shifting sinuously along curves, accenting dips between lines of muscle as they turned.

"You're here."

Stupid thing to say. And hard to say it, his mouth dry as he realized exactly how his mind and body were responding to the feast before his eyes. Had he any doubts left about pure, physical attraction they were now banished. The urge to rush forward was strong. But he remembered the wishes of the man who could have him back in chains in an instant, wishes made clear that he not be forceful, not make demands.

It was not easy, tearing his eyes away from the changing light on rippling skin as it came closer. The stern face gave away nothing, brown eyes nearly black without the light, and he was distracted again by the orange-red hair, lit from behind and itself becoming a candleflame with yellow-white edges. It did not look ridiculous, though he thought it should. His hands clenched, nearly itching with the urge to touch that fire, to burn himself with the softness of it.

He jumped as if scalded when his chin was taken in between a strong thumb and two long fingers, lifting and turning his head. When soft touches trailed across his sensitive throat, he closed his eyes and sighed, the best he could do when holding back a much more shameless response.

"Damn that brute. I should have killed him."

The voice was soft despite the harsh sentiment. Both hands withdrew, and he opened his eyes, staggering a step as his entire body leaned forward to chase the retreating touches. His owner walked toward the darkest corner of the room and he looked away. Breathing deep, he tried to use the opportunity to calm down. He recalled the many questions he had, a distraction to redirect his licentious thoughts, and the one mystery that had both pleased and angered him. The tall lady's words, '. _. . the young lord . . . my lord Toshiro . ._ ..' Just how much did he not understand? And was it safe to ask?

"Come here, pet."

The man had lit the candles near the desk, where Hanataro had set out medical supplies. For that matter, where had the healer gone? He had completely forgotten, only now noticing the youth's absence. Sent away by the prince, or back to bed. Which would be right there, through one door. It had never occurred to him, servant's quarters adjacent to those of a mistress. He remembered the sounds through the wall, Yumichika's voice in the throes of passion and his own discomfort and curiosity. And he remembered how far beyond flustered Hanataro had been when he walked in on the scene of Toshiro moaning under the prince . . . and his room was right there.

"You are going to make me repeat myself? Or would you prefer another's company?"

The brown eyes looked pointedly at the door to the servant's quarters, where he had been staring. Then he did rush forward, scowling at the blank face, the impatient tone, and getting only a slightly raised brow in response. He sat, and shrugged the robe off his left shoulder, feeling more than seeing the man bend closer, the warmth of a candle as it was held near his back.

"Hmm, pretty raw. I'm sure what happened tonight didn't help. Clean, though. Is it hurting?"

"Only a little, master. It always does after bathing."

The touch was firmer this time, applying a thin layer of the salve, the numbing feeling following the short burst of pain. The man was efficient, confident, plenty of experience in battlefield care, he supposed. Unexpected contact made him suck in a breath sharply as another hand drifted across the back of his neck, wiping cold droplets from his hair that he had not noticed. He was far too susceptible to touch with the fantasies his libido had been tormenting him with. He gritted his teeth and forced his body to obey while the subject of his fantasies went to wash salve off his hands.

"You are limping, pet," the smooth voice called from the bathroom. "Did Hanataro examine your foot?"

"He did, master. Just bruised on the bottom, no real damage. He said it should feel better in a day or two."

Deliberately not watching the half-naked man return, he blinked as a thick towel was draped over his head, large hands massaging the cloth into his hair. It was the same thing he did to dry his hair, maybe a bit gentler but there was no reason for it to feel so much better. Too soon the towel was gone, and the soft gauze patch was being pressed into place. When nothing was said or done for a few seconds, he moved the robe back up and stood.

"Thank you, master."

Debating about whether to turn and face the man, he stared at nothing, tried to think of nothing, when he was suddenly swept off his feet. A startled yelp, a moment of stomach-clenching imbalance, and he wrapped his arms around the only source of stability. This had happened earlier, his owner grabbing him from the bed right in front of the three women and rushing him out the door. He'd had no choice but to cling to the man's neck as long strides made his bruised head even more dizzy, tucking his face into the strong shoulder just to try to feel anchored. At least a dozen people, servants, guards, who knew what, had been drawn to the noise and backed away, staring wide-eyed at the prince carrying him, both bloodied, and he had clenched eyes shut to avoid their prying eyes, not to mention to control the nausea.

Thankfully, the trip across the room was much shorter. His arms tightened as the grip around him shifted, held up by one arm under and around him as the prince leaned, his other hand pulling back blankets before shifting again to lower him to the bed.

"That was . . . unnecessary."

He couldn't stop the comment, though he did manage to soften what he intended to say. Just as always, the presence of his owner had him stumbling all over his own emotions, forgetting any decisions and plans, bringing unintended thoughts and words. Yet, it was not as bad as it had been. He was at least free of the tangled mess he had made trying to deny that he was stuck here, trying to deny that he didn't entirely hate the situation in light of certain . . . perks.

Perks like the quiet chuckle, the warm lips pressed lightly to his frown, gone too soon as the prince stepped back. Something within ached in anticipation, fully expecting the pleasure he had thought he would be denied. He moved weight off his shoulder, turning on his side as he watched the man walk to the other side of the bed, pausing to blow out the candles on the desk, leaving only the lonely bedside candle to struggle against the deep desert darkness. He was mystified as to why he did not just climb in with him but once again enjoyed the show of light playing on the warrior's perfect torso. Far from shamed now, he was delighted when lean hips were revealed, cloth pushed down and stepped out of, long cock swelled, half hard and framed by the bright hair.

The dark eyes were watching him, flashing black then gold and back to brown in the flickering light from over Toshiro's shoulder. Other than a faint smile, there was no indication what the man was thinking. Or perhaps he was falling too far into lust to be able to tell. All he knew was that the bed was far too large, the handsome body too far away, too quickly hidden under a sheet with the bunched up thicker blankets piled in between them, an unreasonable obstacle.

Shortly it became clear that the man had no intention of resolving this intolerable situation, stretching the arm closest to him up to rest on the pillow, sheet covering nearly to shoulders. He stared, amazed and growing pissed, for ten seconds before he moved. Tossing blankets farther away as he went, he crawled over the endless expanse of mattress, finally pulling the sheet away and twisting to nestle himself against the larger body, head on the stretched-out arm. His owner watched all of this, silent and still, and he looked into those sharp brown eyes as he pulled the sheet back up with his hand that reached across to rest on the far shoulder. His own cock, quite a bit harder as it had been since first seeing the god-like form in the candlelight, was satisfyingly pressed into the curve right above an angular hipbone.

"That's better."

"Is it?" Perhaps a glint of amusement in the low voice, and he didn't quite hold back a triumphant smirk.

"You don't want to be close to me, master?"

"No, I don't." Triumphant smirk gone. "You're injured, pet, and you need to rest, not play. It will be difficult for me, but you can stay of you promise to behave."

"I am not injured," he glared, indignant. "I'm barely bruised. Less in need of protection than my first night in this bed, certainly."

He saw the orange brows furrow, eyes narrowing.

"I don't mean . . . I wasn't hurt, I just . . . dammit, why is it so difficult to talk to you?"

"Perhaps because we have not had much practice, so often being distracted with other ways to enjoy one another."

He relaxed, glad to hear the playful note and see the vexation at his harsh words already gone. Considering the warning in the back of his mind to not be too forward, weighing it against the aching heat that made him long to push closer, he took the risk. As if simply wanting to adjust for comfort, he let his hand slide a little higher, curling perfectly around the muscle from neck to shoulder, and brought his knee up, left leg resting atop thigh. He held back a moan at the friction this brought, which was the end goal, after all.

"It is your fault, then, master, for distracting me so."

"Now, now. You promised to behave, pet."

Good sense did not stand much chance. The skin beneath his fingers was too tempting, silky and warm as his thumb stroked up and down the smooth neck.

"Behave? I recall no such promise. In fact, that truly does not sound like the type of vow I would take."

"There's that sharp tongue again. I would find a better use for it, but I meant it when I said you must rest. Perhaps I should return to my own bed."

"Very well," he gave an exaggerated sigh and let go of the warm skin to pull the sheet back again, "I will obey, master. Only, I think I must make use of the restroom. I'm sure I am too . . . uncomfortable to sleep."

His attempt to move away was interrupted as the arm under his head wrapped around him, another hand grabbing the knee that had been resting on the long thigh. One powerful push and pull and he found himself lying completely on top of the man who had been trying to resist, and he grinned as he drew his other leg up so that both knees were alongside the waist he was straddling. That face, somehow, was still calm. A gleam of cunning now, but the hunger he knew his owner, his lover, must feel by now was hidden. He would do his best to crack that mask, though he would be content enough to share ecstasy regardless. The heartbeat under his chest was quite strong enough to show the emotion not evident in the stony face.

"That won't do at all, sweetheart. I'm a jealous man, you see. Now that you are mine, I want your _every_ ," the hands tightening across his lower back added delectable pressure and he groaned, "orgasm to be _mine_."

Such words! Just as the prince's violent protectiveness had soothed instead of frightening him, words so controlling and possessive made that wonderful ache inside turn into a fierce and fiery need. Closer, his hands slid up to hold both shoulders. He only had to stretch up a bit to feel warm breath on his lips, to speak with soft skin brushing on soft skin.

"Then, it seems I have a dilemma. I am to behave and rest, you see. But I cannot rest in this condition. And I cannot resolve it if I am to behave." He sighed against lips that started to curve. "My master, what must I do?"

"You think you've won. And now I will kiss you, hard and deep." His lips were indeed parted and longing, sucking in the words and the wet warmth moving against them. "Or maybe you expect me to throw you down now, give you what you think you have earned."

The hands on his back moved apart and down to his hips, the release of pressure and the seductive teasing wrested a whine from his sore throat. Then he was being moved again. Not thrown down, but pushed upright, his hands bracing on his lover's lowest ribs to regain balance as the large hands left him, going up as long arms bent. The familiar smirk was back as the arrogant prince propped his head on his laced hands, a clear indication that Toshiro was not going to be touched.

"Well, my clever pet?"

He swallowed the brief disappointment at losing the little game, swallowed the impulse to growl or to laugh at the obvious solution his owner had reached. There was nothing to complain about, anyway. It might not be the ideal scenario he had imagined, but he would not allow himself to feel ashamed of this new predicament, 'forced' to expose himself on yet another level. And he had gotten himself into this, so worked up that there really was no backing out. Watching the brown eyes carefully, he slipped off the damp robe hanging loose from his shoulders, disgruntled to not seeing any change in the calm demeanor as he let the heavy cloth drop off the side of the bed.

Looking down slowly, pulse quick and visible along the lines of the long neck, the broad chest displayed magnificently, dusky nipples he suddenly wished to taste moving with deep breaths, and the lines of ribs framing the strong abdominal muscles. All of it cast in shadow, scant highlights of bronze, all within his reach, and he would not touch, not yet. He was aware all along of the now rock-solid length behind him, acutely aware of how the action of sitting up had caused the firm tip to press sharply above his tailbone before sliding up his back, the trail of dampness growing cold to where it rested hot and low on his spine. How must that have felt? The impact, the friction, yet there was no reaction. Well, perhaps the game was not lost.

Focused on the body beneath him, on getting his lover to agree to any kind of pleasure at all, the simple contact when he brought his hand to grasp his own cock caused an unbelievable rush of tingling bliss. Taken by surprise, he sagged forward with a deep groan and would have collapsed back onto that warm chest if not for his left hand, fingers clenching into skin and feeling muscles jump in response. He breathed in, staring at the three small, red crescents as he relaxed his hand, looking up sharply at the sound of low laughter, expecting anger and meeting amusement.

"My, you have become desperate. Don't stop now, pet."

There it was. Lust too strong to hide shining in those eyes. He smiled widely as he sat back up, deliberately pushing against the barely wounded skin, deliberately scooting back. He hadn't counted on the effect of that action with his legs spread wide, and he groaned again at the delightful pressure on his scrotum, the satin skin sliding along his inner thighs.

All the hormones of a healthy youth, all the fantasies one of privilege had time to dwell on, he had never imagined anything like this. On top of a man, hand stroking firmly, rocking gently to revel in the feeling of the softest parts of the hard body between his wantonly spread legs, and he thought it was all divine. He had enjoyed it from the beginning, but had let shame, pride, anger muddle his thoughts, let such worthless emotions taint pure ecstasy. No longer.

"Master," he locked eyes with the man as slowed his hand, stilled his hips, "you are so beautiful."

The languid smile brightened, then vanished with a gasp as Toshiro's free hand reached back. He had never touched another man's penis, of course, though this one he had felt quite intimately pressed against his own or nestled as it was now in the cleft of his buttocks. Larger, it would more than fill his hand if he wrapped his fingers around it. But he did something else, something he had started thinking of the last time he had been cuddled close with that threatening and exciting hardness pressed against him.

His palm found the wet tip, rubbing and earning another gasp along with a tightening, a slight raising of the body beneath him. Then he slid his damp hand down, pushing into his own skin and trapping the flesh of his lover between his palm and the soft globes of his ass. The results were everything he had hoped, the stoicism vanished in a flush of pleasure, brown eyes wincing, laced hands drawn apart and coming down, almost reaching for him but grabbing sheets instead.

Satisfied with his achievement, he yielded to his own needs, hands rubbing in sync to bring his lover along with him. More than that, it was affecting him far more than expected, watching the experienced, bold man pushed to the edge. Was this the power the prince had spoken of? It seemed a useless power, bringing pleasure to one man, prince though he may be. At best, it may earn better treatment for a slave, better wages for a whore.

Shaken out of his bitter thoughts by large hands gripping his thighs, by the sudden jolt of hips beneath him, he left worry behind again. No choice but to move faster, back arching, feeling the curve of his spine provide greater friction for the slick head as it pushed up against him, hand rubbing at his own swollen tip in sympathy.

It did not escape him, how very like proper fucking this was. That was the point. He knew it would happen soon, and somewhere in the back of his mind the fear of it was starting to be outweighed by anticipation. Even if it was painful, even if it was shameful, looking down again at the handsome face awash in lust for him, the gorgeous body straining toward approaching bliss, he knew it would be worth it.

That realization was nearly too much. His head stretched back, moans and harsh panting making way for a string of senseless words and curses as the aching need became painful and oh, so wonderful, the rhythmic movement beneath him driving him mad. He felt the large hands wrapping around his hips, thumbs pressing to encourage him to keep leaning back. He wanted to hold on, wanted to feel his lover reach the heights of pleasure rather than see the man neglect his own needs once again. But then those hands lifted him, just enough to startle him with sudden imbalance, and then brought him back down on thrusting hips.

"Fuck!" He adjusted his hand on his own cock, giving in to the movement forced on him and the change in sensations. The impact alone, as it happened again, was unbelievably perfect. He threw his weight back farther, left hand pressing harder against the cock thrusting into the tight channel he provided and winning a gasp and a grunt from below as he was pulled down.

"Now, my beauty," the usually smooth voice ragged, almost a growl, "look."

His eyes snapped open to meet the shadowy reflection his own eyes looking down on him, dark with bliss, candlelight bringing flashes of teal to the surface, white hair fallen back in a bright halo. He could not describe his own expression, almost one of agony with his mouth open in never-ending cries. Body bent back, chest and tight muscles gleaming, skin gold and rose with the warm light and the passion, dark and glistening head of his erection in his pale hand.

For the first time in his life, as he shook and watched himself raised and lowered, watched his body tighten further, watched his release begin in thick white before his eyes closed in euphoria, for the first time he found himself beautiful.


	21. Distrust

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 **Chapter 21**

 **Distrust**

 _The heart of another is a dark forest, always, no matter how close it has been to one's own. ~ Willa Cather_

* * *

There was simply nothing as beautiful as the desert at night, not the finest gems, not the most perfect of women could hope to compare. Skies not simply black but alive with infinite shades of blue and violet and covered with the specks of distant cold fire, the purple ribbon of thick stars across the night lighting up the sands below, casting shadow even in the darkness. This stretch of the desert was his favorite, the naturally gray sands turning to silver, dunes shading into deep indigo with striations of black. Here, there were no settlements, the open expanse too dry, too harsh for all but the occasional nomadic tribe. Starrk did not get to visit this place often enough, the chance of being needed here slim, but crossing it was required from time to time.

His squad knew how he felt, and the normally rambunctious group was mostly silent, spread out to provide him space with only the occasional creak or jingle of tack, the snorts of the horses, a murmured word or two. The sands were still, barely a breeze to shift them. Even the nocturnal hunters avoided lingering here, no water within two days journey in any direction, so no prey to draw their attention.

It was a slow trek, riding at an easy walk to spare the horses. They had been bred for centuries to thrive in the desert, but this was the first night of a four-day trek across the open sands with very little water, enough to ask without pushing for speed. He didn't mind the pace, reins dropped and head tilted back to watch the sky, he drifted off into the peace between waking and sleep from time to time.

In the silence, the small noise to his right was glaringly obvious, a series of short breaths and a quiet grunt. Posture still relaxed, his mind was instantly alert. He trusted the instincts of every permanent member of his squad, but none more than Lilynette. Outsiders commented on his own instincts, creating a little legend that he did not pay much attention to. The sobriquet 'Coyote' suited him, clever and tough desert survivor, and if the stories told about him increased his enemies fear, so much the better.

But there was one who caught even what his keen senses did not, sensed danger or opportunity seconds before he did, and she had given them an even greater edge. Watching her sniff the wind, attention fixed the northeast, he focused on his senses and waited to catch on or be told what he was missing. Without a word exchanged, horses started to drift in toward them, the experienced warriors picking up on tension, the less experienced following the lead of their seniors.

"That way. Probably not dangerous, just one person."

"Just one, no horses?"

One strangely colored eye met his for a moment, and he shut up. He'd long stopped asking how she picked up on something as faint as a breath or a stray scent on the other side of a dune, because all he got in reply was a pitying look, as if to say 'You poor thing. How do you survive with such dull senses?' It didn't help that she was still a child, a tiny waif that looked about as dangerous as fox kit.

A few hand gestures had a grinning Grimmjow heading straight in the direction Lilynette had indicated, Yllfordt and Shawlong heading out on either side at a quicker pace. The rest of the squad paused around him, watching the departing fighters. It would have to be one hell of a threat to stand up to Grimmjow alone, but he did not take unnecessary chances.

It was a less happy trio that rode back over the dune just a few minutes later, a look of boredom and slight disgust on the blue-haired man's face. Across the front of his saddle, a dark bundle hung limp and he sighed. Another cast-off child? Not likely this far out. A suicidal or ignorant traveler then to try this desert alone, or a survivor of a raided caravan or village, wandered off into exactly the wrong direction.

"Just this, still breathin', no sign of any trouble or company."

Grimmjow pulled the dark hair up, the captive unconscious which was probably a mercy. Holding back a grimace, he eyed the pale child, a girl he thought though it was hard to say. Small and thin, dark hair full of sand and dust, skin burnt, lips cracked, she would not have survived another day, maybe not the night. Most would just leave her, the effort of saving her life would cost more than such a small thing was likely to fetch in the markets. But after Lilynette, he found it hard to overlook strays. Who could tell what potential this one may have?

"Take care of her. We'll head west." Back to water and civilization, the strain of just one extra to care for too much on their water rations to continue the crossing.

"It ain't worth it, Starrk. Kid'll be dead by dawn."

Blue-gray eyes locked with sapphire. "You will personally care for the child through the night, then. I'm sure you can keep it alive."

"Shit!"

That and a growl was all the defiance he got. Grimmjow knew his own mouth had gotten him stuck with playing nursemaid when the task could have been shoved off on someone lower, and he knew better than to challenge Starrk over something so trivial. He held back a smile as the pissed-off warrior rode off with a snarl on his face, rode off slowly and gently after carefully setting the small head back down, dangling on the horse's shoulder. When he looked back a couple of hours later, he did smile as he took in the image of Grimmjow with the child now cradled comfortably in a nest of blankets, one arm holding the still unconscious form up against his chest while a damp rag was gently dabbed to parched lips. At the ferocious warrior's side rode an ever-curious Lilynette, no doubt chatting non-stop judging by the annoyance all over Grimmjow's face. He turned back with a low chuckle. Even if the stray died, the chance to make Grimm that uncomfortable was always worth it.

ooooooooooOOOOOOOOOOoooooooooo

One thing Shinji had not managed to do was secure an invitation to the wedding. Short notice, his own lack of an identity here, and the exorbitant price-tag of a black-market invitation had defeated even the established contacts he had in Las Noches. There would be several opportunities for the 'commoners' to see the royal company, the King and his household, even the nobility invited would parade through the streets. It was a slim chance that his target would be among them, but worth a look. A noble securing such a beauty just might make the young man a concubine to show off instead of keeping him under lock and key.

He sighed as he stared down at another unappetizing plate of bland food that he would dutifully eat and praise to stay on his landlady's good side. This woman must be the only person in Hueco Mundo that didn't spice the hell out of everything. He never would have believed he would miss having to suck down a gallon of water after every bite, but even that was better than unseasoned goat and plain beans.

Suddenly, a glass jar full of a chunky red and yellow paste appeared in front of him, along with a retreating hand.

"Try that. The food here needs a little extra, okay a lot of extra help. Just don't let her catch you or you'll never hear the end of it."

Dutifully, he wrapped a concealing hand around the jar, and lifted the top, powerful spices flooding his nose. As he took a spoonful to mix in with the horribly plain, stringy goat, he turned his head. She was worth turning to look at. Not everyone's type, he was sure, especially here where they liked their women tall and strong. Strong she might be, but small and on the thin side. Short blonde hair in a boyish cut, a little left long to drape over one startling emerald eye.

"Well, thank you, my new friend. Won't you please join me? Allow me to buy you some of this delicious food, or perhaps a drink?"

She chuckled, proving he was right not calling her 'my lady' or 'my dear.' He was a quick and excellent study, and immediately knew that she wasn't one for such flatteries. No, she was almost stubbornly proud of not being 'my lady.'

"I would love to, but I'm here to work, like I didn't have enough to do. Too many guests here for the blasted wedding."

"Careful. Seems to be an awful lot of royal spirit in the air."

An inelegant snort and those green eyes looked him up and down, lingering on his wide smile, which he knew quite well was his most ridiculous feature. Whatever she was looking for, it appeared he was lacking as she started to turn away. He rushed to keep the conversation going, suspecting this was, in fact, the landlady's daughter, serving girl to an illustrious lady. Too valuable a source of information to let go so soon.

"You don't seem excited in the least. I can see how it would be nothing but extra work for some people. Still, that means extra money, right? The landlady's charging me three times what the room is worth, definitely three times what the meal's worth if it hadn't been for your timely gift. Those folks by the fire are paying a silver each to sleep on this very floor tonight. Highway robbery."

Again, that appraising look, the polite smile turning to a false frown.

"You callin' my mother a thief? Try to find another bed tonight, then."

Perfect. A man apologizing for an offense would try to chat and compliment. That gave him an opening to question, an excuse to turn his attention to her more fully. Not too flirty, though. Something about her warned him against trying seduction.

"Now, now, no offense meant, my friend. I think I got a rather good deal, considering I came to town with no idea about this blessed event. No, all in all, I'm very much in your dear mother's debt for taking in this poor beggar. She tells me you work for a lady. You must be quite busy indeed. I assume your lady is attending the celebrations of the royal nuptials?"

"And yet, here I am." She compromised by cleaning up the half-empty plates from the table near enough to still talk to him. He spared a moment of admiration for the diners that made it halfway through.

"A good and dutiful daughter, no doubt." Another snort of derision, absolutely charming. "You will be attending the grand ceremony, then? All dolled up in ribbons and bows?"

"Hardly. You really aren't from around here, are you?"

"Really not. Ever heard of Rukongai? We don't have royalty there, or nobility. Got rid of them all a couple generations ago, never looked back. Name's Yuuto, by the way."

"I'm Menoly, I'm sure mother has already told you. Life without kings, huh? Sounds nice. Here, people like me get to do all the work. It takes rank, money, power, or beauty to get anything good out of life, no matter how hard you work."

The nature of their conversation had led her to lean in closer, their voices quiet. Confidants already.

"You must have a very early morning if your lady is attending. And yet you came to help your dear mother. Anything I can do to help?"

"Yeah, sure. You know how to clean dishes?"

It was said flippantly as she turned away. She knew a lecherous flirt when she met one and turned wide-eyed when he got up and gathered his own dishes.

"Hey, I was just joking. You're a paying guest."

"One in your debt for the best meal I've had since arriving. Just show me where to find things in the back and I'll take care of the rest."

It was with some annoyance that he found her gone two hours or so later, as the dining room turned into a hostel and all the clean and shining plates, bowls, silverware, and cups were stored away for a few hours. They had exchanged a few jokes and comments amid the bustle, but he had been counting on sitting down and prying out a few more details, test a few theories. Well, his pruned hands and sore back from bending over the sink would not be entirely a wasted investment. She would no doubt return, and he could then see if she had by any chance spotted a new youth with white hair and eyes not too far from her own vibrant jewels somewhere in the noble crowds.

"Ah, Yuuto," the old hag . . . that is, the lovely landlady leaned against his side with no regard for personal space or how she smelled after sweating in everyone's food. At least that added a little salt. "Living up to your name, my handsome gentleman."

Gross. He smiled as he wrapped an arm around the thick shoulders to steer her to a seat, much to the woman's delight as she tried to summon a blush.

"I'd have to be a right bastard to watch you and your daughter working so hard while I just sat idle. You just relax your poor feet, dear, let me get you some tea."

"Oh, such a kind one! I'll make you a special breakfast tomorrow." Of course, she wouldn't offer a free night or anything. "Everyone else will just have to be happy with porridge. They'll all be gone first thing, anyway, to get a good view. Not me, I'll be slaving away while all the festivities go on. Maybe I can get some sleep while the place is empty, eh? And what will you be doing tomorrow, handsome?"

He repressed a shudder at the implication, remembering making excuses and finally pushing her out of his room the first night. She was incredibly polite and subtle for Las Noches, where more than one woman simply grabbed his dick with a leer as a way of propositioning.

"I'll be out with all the rest of the suckers, trying to catch a glimpse of the other half."

"I suppose it is a spectacle worth seeing once. I watched the show as best I could when King Aizen took his first wife, and I was just a child when the King's coronation ceremony took place." Yeah, right, just a child. "Too busy now for such things. I've seen them all anyway, even saw the prince a few times. Wouldn't mind a chance to see the new princess, I hear she's a beauty without equal. And the prince's lover is quite something, my dear sweet Menoly says, a small kid they swear is of age, you know how that goes, and hair white as the moon. The boy does seem to like unusual coloring, must be because of his own hair. Wonder where that came from? His mother, pretty lady, had brown hair. Must be a grandparent or something."

His triumphant grin would have alarmed her if she hadn't been wrapped up in her own yapping. How many small white-haired boys could there be, especially here?

"Here's your tea," he finally broke into her rambling. "So, I've heard about your prince. Supposed to be untouchable with a sword, right? I do hope to see him tomorrow, something to tell folks back home. Tell me more about this princess and the white-haired lover. They should be easy to spot, right? I'll be sure to tell you all about them when I bring you tea tomorrow night."

Tonight, no time to waste, he would send for support. The prince of Hueco Mundo, rumored to be nearly as ruthless as his father, a prodigy with the blade, a born strategist, and a heartless killer. Beyond legends, the throne of Seireitei kept records with stories and true accounts, proofs sent from agents within every great capitol. This prince's kills were innumerable, dozens of them carried out in secrecy along with so many more that were proven. He would need his team, and they would need to accomplish the rescue without directly engaging the deadly prince if at all possible.

Busying himself with final touches about the kitchen, he listened to the old lady prattle on, all the while scheming a rescue that would itself become a legend. Or get them all killed.

ooooooooooOOOOOOOOOOoooooooooo

Nothing could be as wonderfully erotic as the growing boldness shown by his little pet, to not just initiate intimacy, but to move so beautifully, to provide as well as accept pleasure with such confidence. What little shame was shown had been quickly drown in a playful lasciviousness he would not have expected for weeks or months if ever. It was quite clear that this luscious boy was capable of being more than a simple submissive or a broken slave.

The dazed youth stirred and he loosened his hold, arms unlocking from around the svelte frame, hands sliding across skin cooling under sweat and his own cum scattered half way up the shallow valley of the boy's spine.

"Poor thing. You were so clean just moments ago."

The sensation of the small body shaking with tired laughter was an interesting one, legs still spread on either side of him, the slight weight breathing shakily, cheek on his breastbone. Then that cheek lifted slightly, staring at the small left hand the boy had drawn up, the hand that had provided him such a novel and delightful release. His very happy cock twitched with renewed interest when a red tongue dragged along damp fingers, tasting cautiously, the dainty nose wrinkling a little as the pink lips closed.

"Good gods, that's sexy."

Big eyes turned to him, and there was a wide streak of mischief in those intriguing turquoise depths as his pet grinned at him.

"I wanted to know what you taste like. Is that alright, master?"

The usually deep and smooth voice took on a higher tone, a childish questioning that had to be a deliberate tease. And oh, how well it worked, making him fight not to throw the boy over and fuck that nasty, coyly smiling mouth. This day had shown him more sides to his little pet than he had ever dreamed, from despairing and crushed child to noble and precocious lord, but this naughty, impish Toshiro with teasing words and a wicked smirk, this innocent devil was his current favorite.

"And how do you like it, little minx?"

"Hmm. Like the desert heat, like the spice that saturates everything here, I find it strange and unsettling. But so quickly, one could become addicted to such exotic flavors."

It didn't seem to matter anymore, his grand plan to educate his gift, guide the boy slowly in the direction of his choice. With such ease, his pet overthrew his reason and made him forget that each time he rushed ahead was a risk, a very real risk of ruining the end product just as a careless craftsman can shatter or forever blemish the strongest diamond with one hasty blow. He knew this, tried to remind himself every time he started to drown in desire, but once again the intense hunger he felt for this gorgeous young thing made it nearly impossible to think rationally.

What was it? As he cupped the soft and damp cheeks of that perfect, virgin ass and pulled the boy up his abdomen, he couldn't find an answer. Beautiful, yes, and fiery, brave, clever, sensual, so many more qualities that he found attractive. But he did not know these things when he first laid eyes on the devious whoremaster's birthday present, and he'd been nearly as obsessed then as now. At first, he'd assumed it was only familiar lust, as he may have for any lovely and accessible body. Yet for years the most stunning men and women in the kingdom had been throwing themselves at his feet, some that would make gods tremble with want. Even with such sinful temptation, Ichigo had always pursued sexual relations with the same caution that ruled his life and had never found restraint or even denial of desire to be any real challenge.

Until now. Until he found himself twisted in knots of carnal desire for a man he already owned, found himself wanting perfection to last instead of simply enjoying, consuming, and moving on to the next delight. And this defenseless, refined vision of temptation met his lips eagerly, only pushing closer when his hand moved into silken tresses to keep the sweet mouth close as he let his control slip.

There had been crystal-clear intentions only an hour ago. The boy had just lived through a day that must have been like Hell, enough stress for a year packed into a handful of hours. He was to provide quiet company, a warm presence, perhaps talk things over but only if the boy wished to relive such nightmarish events so soon. Any touching beyond simple comfort was not on the agenda, and then the boy would have a night to himself tomorrow, time for both of them to think.

Yet here he was, intentions swiftly discarded, telling himself things had already gone too far this evening while ardently tongue-fucking the eager little demon and groping like some sex-deprived lecher. Delicate hands, now obscenely sticky which only served to fuel the fire, came to rest firmly on each side of his face, small thumbs stroking his cheekbones. And gods, how perfectly the small globes fit into his palms, how wonderfully his tongue filled the small mouth, leaving no room even for the muffled sounds to take proper form before he smothered every potential protest.

The little imp yelped when he turned, shoving the boy down and holding him by the shoulders as he moved in to devour his pet. He froze as he saw the wince, pain flashing across the pretty face before being hidden, and only then it registered that the sound was not surprise or excitement. He growled, hands tightening on the thin shoulders, the sight of the lacerations and bruises like freezing water thrown over his heated body. There was no struggle, lovely eyes startled but not frightened as he struggled to rein in his anger. Not at his pet, but at his own lack of restraint, rage at everything that led up to his precious gift wincing in pain.

"You're hurting. This is why I tried to keep my distance."

"You didn't try very hard, master."

He flinched. He, prince of the desert, peerless killer, heir to the evilest bastard alive, he flinched at the soft voice that intended only to tease yet pointed out his massive error. So expressive, he saw the sudden concern in the eyes he could easily drown in, the eyes still tight with pain.

"Stay," he growled inches from the alarmed little angel's lips. "Do not move one inch or I'll have you back in chains."

He ignored the panicked whimper, and the guilt that accompanied it. He didn't mean to scare the boy, particularly after such mutual enjoyment. He hadn't meant for any of this to happen. He should have stayed in his room, but had thought to share one more night, only share warmth and closeness, and they had much to talk about. Moments later he had gathered what he needed and made his way back along the passage connecting his room to Toshiro's.

His pet had calmed down, but remained exactly where he had been left, only the white-crowned head raised, eyeing the open door and dark hall before fixing on him, then turning away. Well, he had been marching about naked, and he supposed just a few days wasn't enough for the awkwardly modest boy to get used to it. Toshiro didn't object to seeing his body bare, judging by the half-hard flesh on display between creamy thighs. He sat on the edge of the bed, dumping a packet of powder into the glass of water at the bedside and swishing it.

"Hanataro already gave me medicine."

"Don't care. You're still in pain. Drink it."

He held out the glass and the boy huffed in annoyance.

"May I move, master?"

"You may, pet. And I do not mind your spirit, but if you ever again hesitate to obey me when your own safety and health are concerned, I'll have you over my knee and beat you until you scream an apology."

A small choking sound came from the boy who had just started to sit up.

"You . . . what?"

He raised a brow and moved the glass a bit closer. The two pale hands wrapped around it and the boy drank, finally obedient, watching him like he was keeping an eye on a wolf that had so far been peaceful, but in the end was still a wolf. He smiled as he brought a warm, wet towel to clean the boy up a bit. They'd made quite a mess, which normally would not concern him. But his brave, fragile hero was injured, and he wanted to ensure they were both comfortable for the rest of the night.

Ichigo took his time to gently stroke over barely defined muscles, down the flat stomach, along and around the pretty cock which earned another strangled cough. Tempting, feeling that sensitive reaction, the awkward squirming of thighs, but no, he would stay on track this time. His hand pushed the boy to lean forward, and he wiped off the nearly flawless skin, clenching his teeth at the sight of the bandaged shoulder, the redness along the spine from being slammed against a wall, the forming bruise around the willowy throat just beside his cheek which he could not help but turn and kiss gently.

Moving away from temptation, he took the glass, stood and wiped off his own stomach before walking around the bed to the side where he had originally placed his pet. Adjusting the scattered blankets, he settled and looked to his wary Toshiro, turning slightly and opening his arms. Instantly, the boy moved, crawling over to him once more. He folded his arms around his treasure, the small body leaning into him, cheek above his heart.

"Now then, you have had a very eventful day. But now that you are . . . relaxed, you will tell me everything that led up to this, my fierce little dragon."

A huff of breath, a barely concealed snort of amusement. He was glad to feel it, happy that they were finally where he had intended to be from the start of the night.

"That hardly suits me, master."

"Hmm? It is perfect. What is your complaint now, _little dragon_?"

"For starters, dragons are huge and powerful, not tiny and weak. Not to mention they are so rare they're practically mythological, and they'd never be in the desert."

"Wrong on nearly all counts, pet. Dragons thrive in the desert. While they are not overly large, they are fierce, dangerously intelligent, and deadly. I've always found them too beautiful to kill. As I say, perfect for you, my little dragon."

One fine hand had pushed against his ribs, propping the boy up to stare. The white brows curved down, and he wanted to kiss the severe lines above the pert nose.

"That doesn't sound at all right. I've never seen one; the few that have been spotted live far to the north in the mountains. But I've seen a skeleton, and many paintings and sketches. The biggest ones cast shadows over entire cities with their wingspan. Their breath is ice and they are freezing cold to the touch."

"Are even dragons so different in Seireitei? Ours are creatures of fire, stunning colors, fast but wingless, thank the gods. I'll have to show you one soon. They aren't as uncommon as they were, thanks to restrictions on hunting, but they are masters at avoiding humans."

Delicious lips parted, features thoughtful and animated with excitement of a very different kind than earlier. He laid a finger across those soft petals, tightening his hold just for a second to interrupt.

"We've gotten distracted . . . again. You fought just like a dragon, turning the enemy's weaknesses into your strengths, resourceful and smart. I've waited long enough to hear this story."

It obviously took some effort for Toshiro not to ask another question, falling silent for several several seconds before nodding. Then, his pet sighed and relaxed against him again, cheek over his heart. He ran his fingers lightly over the boy's neck again and again as the tale unfolded, dreading the inevitable darkness that would mar that porcelain column.

I the boy's voice he heard no blame or anger directed at him or his fiancée. The anger toward the Kenpachi was evident, and bitterness at feeling powerless. Even fear bled through as Toshiro described the violent confrontation. The boy seemed so honest, his entire body tensing with the memory of facing certain death. This could not be a spy, not with a tender heart so easily exposed, he was nearly certain of it. He had also seen the pretty face locked down, emotion wiped clean, broadcasting clearly that the boy had some secret or was evading telling the truth. Too raw a response for a trained spy, too obvious a tell.

"I was so sure he would kill me, and I couldn't even move. I remember thinking that I would die in a comfortable bed, the way my uncle always says he wants to go, though I am certain his plan doesn't involve being crushed by a drunken brute. My only consolation was that I managed to hurt him, not nearly enough but at least I wouldn't die without fighting back. Then you were there, and he was already down by the time I could think. How I wish I had seen it, you must have been truly magnificent."

The boy tensed again, though how Toshiro could imagine such praise would offend, Ichigo could not understand. He kissed the thick hair since his pet did not look up to see the approving smile. He felt the faint shiver and realized why the tension had returned. Just the thought of him, or the imagined vision of him in battle? Or was it being saved from death that had the boy aroused once more, after stoically enduring closeness and tender petting along his neck and shoulders? Whatever the cause, he stilled his hand, simply holding, still determined to keep the remainder of the night restful.

"You did quite well, pet. The cut on his cheek was deep, all the way through. And that kick, I would feel sorry for the man if I did not know better. It will be weeks before he can eat solid food. And you did this with no weapon but a comb and a slipper. What I achieved with a sword from behind pales in comparison."

The small head stirred, perhaps debating looking up to see if he was mocking. He was not. Whatever else may be said, the boy was clever and brave as any man he knew to face a monster like that.

"I have a confession. I have wanted to fight that man for years, and I am now ashamed to say that I liked him the moment I met him. Had I been there to hear the things he said, I would not have been so merciful. But I do wish it had not happened this way. No healer will ever fix the damage I did to the Kenpachi's leg. So, I find myself regretting the events of tonight. I will never get to face the brute at full strength now."

"I think I can understand that."

He held back a scoff at such a tiny, pretty thing thinking to understand a warrior's drive to battle. Had he not just deemed the boy brave and admired the way his little dragon fought? Maybe Toshiro did understand. Certainly, his pet did not deserve to be laughed at for showing a little nerve.

"As I said, you did well, little dragon. Have you had some type of combat training, or was it merely luck and fast thinking?"

There it was. Though he could not see the boy's face, he could feel the stilled breath, the complete lack of movement, even the heart which had started to speed with warmth and desire seemed to stall. This was the boy stopping to think of a lie, of a way to evade a straight answer and protect some secret from him, and he would not have it. Yet the anger, the ever present just at the edge of his every thought anger, was not at the boy for lying as he thought it would be. It was at himself, for giving a shit at all about Toshiro lying, for wanting a slave to trust him. They both drew breath to speak, but the tightening of his fingers on the narrow shoulder stopped the boy.

"No! _Never_ lie to me. Don't speak if you cannot tell me the truth. _Ever_. You understand, slave? If you can't or won't be completely honest, just _keep your fucking mouth shut_."

His pet had frozen, then lunged back as if bitten, weight thrown first against his arm, pushing, twisting, legs and hips scrambling and hand shoving on his ribs until at last the lithe body seemed to collapse out of his grasp. He halted the arm reaching for the boy, closing his eyes for just one second, suddenly hearing how malevolent and hateful his own voice had been, how threatening. He had never spoken so harshly to Toshiro, and now he had verbally lashed the boy simply for protecting himself from a man who held his tender life hostage.

Opening his eyes, he saw the fear of him renewed in the dark turquoise depths. The stunning, naked youth shook, on knees thoughtlessly spread, backed up into a piled ridge of blankets. But it was not only fear, not only heavy tears dragging down long lashes, gilding black with shining silver as they struggled not to fall. _Hurt_ , wounded as if the tiny heart had been crushed. Why? What would a slave boy given to him only days ago care for his judgment? Fear his wrath, struggle to please, yes. There was no reason he could find for the injured heart, and the anger building as his own died.

"I have never," words hissing between clenched teeth, tone angry but gaze so heartbroken, "never lied to you."

Slowly, he drew himself up and back from the boy, who watched cautiously somewhere between weeping and lunging forward to bite his throat open. He was much better at stilling his features, hiding his thoughts, but in the background his mind raced for clarity and the best way to proceed.

Unwittingly, he had exposed deep vulnerabilities today beginning with the devastating breakdown brought on by the collar and the way the boy was treated by himself and the three merchants. He was still not satisfied with the young man's explanation, that it was what Toshiro perceived as harsh treatment returning to upset him. No, there was a good deal more to it than a proud slave raised kindly and then collared and branded. He had put many men through that experience himself, and he knew what it took to bruise pride, to break it, and to shatter it completely.

Then the unforeseeable disaster that nearly resulted in the boy's death. Not even he was immune to the terror of a battle that seemed to be one's last. His experience and his nature kept that fear suppressed during the fight, but always such realization of mortality came to haunt him after. Toshiro seemed to handle it well, yet the young man had to be facing the devastating horror of a violent death. All while trying to navigate through pride and shame, obviously far from understanding or accepting the life the boy had not sought, the life he nearly lost.

Now, was it only the repeated traumas of the day that had his pet so exposed, every reaction visceral, the conflicts obvious in the anger and tears, the terror and desire? Had he orchestrated everything perfectly, he was certain he could never have achieved this beautiful state of defenseless need. The boy stood on crumbling ground, one push and his pet would fall in any direction he wished.

Pin the boy down, finally take him, rough but with plenty of ecstasy for the crying slave, and he would have a very good chance of creating an obedient and intimidated pet. The boy would become completely dependent, forever locking away secrets of the past so carefully hidden. In time, the previous life would be forgotten. It would be easy, the resulting pet one that required little thought or tending, never disturbing his time or thoughts to this extent again.

Or return the boy to chains, make him fight and then lose. He could thoroughly break the boy tonight, steal the last of his will to resist, to even care about resisting. There were significant advantages to this, though the resulting pet would grow dull over time. It would definitely kill the part of him that gave a shit about the feelings and well-being of a slave, free him of any obligation.

But then there was that image he recalled every waking moment, the shining jewel on black velvet and the vision of what that alluring gem could become, purest diamond cut and polished to blind every eye. And the newest vision, the lithe body contorting to wrap itself around a monster's arm, the fire in those eyes burning away pain and fear of death to attack. So many other signs, the regal bearing, wise and courtly words, placing honor above safety. Was it worth convenience? Could he throw away that dream of creating a strong and loyal lover that would have the entire court kneeling at his perfect little feet?

No, he would not settle for a lesser prize so soon. He would not turn his back on paradise just to spare himself the struggle to reach an understanding with the mysterious, beautiful angel before him. Such would be unforgivable. He leaned back against the headboard, lifting his arms again, beckoning to the trembling youth.

All these thoughts presented and carefully considered in just a few breaths. How many such considerations passed through the young and vibrant mind facing him? And which ideas took hold to cause fear to fade and resolution to take its place, for anger to dissolve into a type of sorrowful pleading not unlike that of an enemy subdued, resigned to die but still silently hoping for life?

"Come, pet. Forgive my anger and let us try again."

ooooooooooOOOOOOOOOOoooooooooo

Tired. He was so tired. Today seemed endless, with such dark and deep lows, such glorious and bright highs, a lifetime between sunrise and this moment, alone in the dark with a prince who may be a demon, but a demon whose embrace brought peace. Toshiro told himself he had no choice but to move forward into those open arms, and the wiser part of himself laughed, knowing full well that he did not even stop to think of alternatives. He wasn't doing what he had to do, but what he wanted to do.

A long sigh left him as he was folded into the waiting, warm arms. Then he gasped as he was suddenly lifted and found himself sitting across the prince's lap, legs draped to one side, back supported by strong arms, cradled like a child. Swallowing the protest that was in his throat, he glared at the handsome face that managed to look stoic and smug at the same time. The last thing he wanted was start another fight, cause more tension and distrust.

After one long glance at him, the brown eyes turned away, looking off into the gloom beyond the lace curtains. He took deep breaths, relaxing as much as he could while acutely aware that he was completely naked, sprawled over the lap of an equally naked man. Mercifully, there was only a slight firmness under his thighs, and the emotional turmoil had killed his own erection. Now, if he could just keep it that way.

"I had nearly 40 half-siblings when I was born."

There was a distraction. He studied the faraway expression and focused on the velvet voice.

"The numbers grew and then dramatically shrank. Less royal bastards are born these days, my father content with the brood he already has. Still, two mistresses are currently with child, and likely many true bastards are due from whores, dalliances with servants and even noblewomen who think to gain influence by bearing the King's children.

"There is no age that is sacred. Babies are murdered in their cradles or at their dying mother's breast. Infanticide is considered vile, an offense against nature which is punishable by a gruesome death, but only if you are caught. That seems hypocritical, doesn't it? We turn against those who kill a newborn for their own gain, but do not blink at parents who discard the same child a few years later for the crime of weakness."

It was monstrous, far worse than mere hypocrisy, but he did not give his opinion voice. He had the distinct impression that the question was rhetorical, his owner lost in his own musings rather than looking for an answer.

"I was overlooked, for the most part. My mother was an official mistress but of the lowest standing, without the ambition required to keep the King's interest. She had only me, not enough influence or a large family to push my claim and so we were not a significant threat. Until a few months before my seventh birthday. One of my oldest brothers, Ginjo, thought himself the favorite for heir. He was the type who used elaborate schemes to get others to do what they want. His rivals died or were disgraced, and the tools he used to accomplish his goals were dirtied or destroyed in the process, his hands always clean.

"Too young to know better, too naïve and kind to cause much trouble, that is how he saw me, and he tried to use me along with a couple of the other young ones. It was simple, giving us attention and childish gifts, getting us to spread rumors and slander to drive three of his rivals into conflict. Other parts of his plot were more involved, my role was very minor. Most saw that they were being used but played along. Some just took what gain was offered, others joined in maliciously, and a few were too stupid to figure it out. I waited and did not do as Ginjo wished, which of course angered him and would make me a target, I knew. I was watching and learning and growing increasingly pissed that anyone would try to use me in this way. That plot was partly successful, severely injuring one rival, disgracing another.

"There are no innocents among my kin. Those that do not learn quickly, die young. But few strike boldly at rivals stronger than they. It had to be done. Alive, Ginjo would quickly have made an example of me, making it clear the consequences for defiance. Ginjo reveled in his victory, hiding his guilt but not his satisfaction, his last moment of glory before I struck. As two sycophantic courtiers and three of our siblings listened to him gloating, I made certain he saw my face before my dagger sliced across his throat. I was gone before the others could react."

"Did they come after you?"

He'd been unable to stop the breathless question, so caught up in the tale. It was not told with bitterness or with a plea for sympathy. It was told as one might recite a story of adventure and vengeance, one of those dark tales the prince's mother had told to teach a babe that the world was not a kind place.

"Loyalty is not won by those who work from the shadows, for everyone knows they may be the next victim of the smiling, vicious coward. So, none of Ginjo's allies attempted to avenge him. Only one pretended righteous anger as an excuse to attack that night, the very fact that he needed some excuse to kill was a foreshadowing of failure. I was more than ready. It was artless, for the fool did not expect a child to be able to fight back. I hardly needed to fight, having been prepared for several attackers. It was simple to lead him into one of many traps. Thus, my second kill, another half-brother, was anticlimactic.

"But another watched the drama unfold from the beginning, and it was then I earned my father's interest. My first two kills paved the way to the throne, and many more kills kept that path open. That is the way of all families here, the royals in particular. Not one of them did not earn death at my hands. They came after me through any means they could find, from outright assassination attempts, to plots subtle and crude, to poisoning my own mother, my only ally."

Toshiro could not help but wonder as he sat comfortable in the embrace of a murderer, would this prince discard his own children? Those that were kept, would they have to fight for the right to exist and feed their ambition with the blood of their siblings? The story was told as if it were the history of a stranger. But under his cheek there was the occasional stuttering of the heart, a pause in even breaths. There was not only deep mistrust, but a still bleeding wound. Soon, this man would have children. Would he allow such damage to his own offspring? Would they watch their mothers die and never heal from the loss?

"I tell you this, pet, so that you know and truly believe that I do not trust you. I will not trust easily, nor will I believe that you are not as steeped in lies and treachery as nearly every man and woman ever born. That is how I survive. I cannot prove dishonesty in you, but I do sense it. And should the day come when I find you false in word or deed, you know your fate. So, I say again, do not speak if you cannot tell the truth."

It was rational. It was only sane. Most people did not really trust others; it is the only way to defend against betrayal. With only a glimpse of the prince's history, he forgave the chains, forgave the games, and forgave the deep ache that made him want to curl into a tight ball of pain and grief. He realized now, no matter what twisted circumstances led him here, he had wanted something, a connection beyond the guarded friendships he had barely allowed. He did not trust easily, either, but he had started to lower his defenses only to find that the one he was trying to reach was locked behind even higher walls. And it hurt.

At that moment, he was eternally grateful for his careful use of words. He had not told much truth, but he was certain he had never lied. He considered what to say, if anything, knowing that another profession of honesty would not be believed or welcomed. The last days had taught him one thing, that his first impulse was likely the correct one, untainted with too much reason. So, he did what he wanted to do, his cheek gliding against satin skin as he lifted his head to press a kiss to the strong jaw, short stubble sharp against thin-skinned lips.

"Thank you for telling me, master."

He said no more, instinct telling him that confessing his own truths was not what was called for. It would be selfish to turn the attention to himself, and it would belittle the gift he had been given. The smile told him his response was acceptable, the hidden pain showing just a little as his lover turned to gently move his weight, leaning into him and he thought he would be laid down under his lover once more. Instead, the stretching body blew out the candle, the sudden darkness blinding.

A bit of shifting, willingly being guided by the large hands, and he was on his right side, face to face in the pitch black with the tender monster who owned him. One warm hand was between his neck and the pillow, one arm draped over his waist. His own arms were bent in between them, tangled comfortably around the tanned arm. His eyes adjusted just enough to see that easy smile still lingering before he gave in to exhaustion.

* * *

 **A/N - I'm not dead. And I'm sorry for being gone for like fucking ever and a day. Updates to my other stories coming soon, I hope, I hope.**


	22. The Dawn of Truth

.

 **Chapter 22**

 **The Dawn of Truth**

 _Search for nothing any more, nothing_  
 _except truth._  
 _Be very still, and try to get at the truth._

 _And the first question to ask yourself is:_  
 _How great a liar am I?_

 _"Search for Truth" ~ David Herbert Lawrence_

* * *

Dawn was still two hours or so away. Even the late arrivals will have had their fun and be sleeping or departed for home, and the ones staying over wouldn't wake for their morning fuck until the sun was up, if then. These few hours were quiet, only the professionals awake and not many of them. Three girls were soaking and talking in a smaller bath. In the distance, one of the newer males, young and very masculine, brought in for the ladies mostly, was doing fast laps in the big pool. The rest of the place was empty. Rangiku slipped into the hottest of the pools, sighing as the steaming water burned and tightened her skin before coaxing all the tension out of her muscles. She sank lower, hair a golden cloud spreading wide and she sighed again, tense shoulders finally reaching the soothing heat.

"Fuck me, those things are amazing! Do they ever sink?"

Lazily opening one eye, she couldn't even summon her usual biting sarcasm.

"Oh, if only you knew how good this feels, honey. Carrying the girls around all day is backbreaking labor, and not the kind I signed up for here in the house of luxury."

Yumichika snorted at that, dropping his robe and walking with the grace of a dancer across the tiled floor to kneel and then slip into the pool with barely a ripple. She watched in appreciation, the body that Las Noches worshiped always worth looking at though she had seen it a thousand times. There had never been and never would be any sexual relationship between them. Not that it wasn't possible; Yumi had quite a reputation with both male and female clients. So had she, back when she was still available. But they had something much stronger than lust between them. It wasn't uncommon. Locked in with each other for years, no one else who really understood their life, many whores had one or two friends that became even closer, confidants and supporters.

"Oh, but I do know, Ran. Carrying this massive dick around all day is exhausting. Doesn't float as well, though."

She giggled at the familiar jest, noting how carefully he was moving as he settled on the ledge beside her. She shouldn't feel jealous, but Gin had taken her off the roster five months ago, keeping her for himself. It had been great at first, until lately. He said he was too busy, often gone for days at a time and then barely staying long enough to say hello let alone take her to bed. She had stooped so low as to try to seduce him a couple of weeks ago, to no avail. 37 days, an eternity for a professional to go without a fuck.

Despite all the wretched men, and a few terrible women, she liked sex. And she was good enough at it to find some pleasure with the crudest of clients. Now, she was surrounded by sex all day and night, and she was the only one not getting any satisfaction out of it. If Gin didn't have the most talented tongue and fingers ever gifted by the gods, she would have cheated on him, terrifying, ruthless master of the house or not.

"You look like you had a rough night." She snickered.

"Mmm. I might have gotten a bit carried away with Ikkaku. Couldn't help myself, just tore into him like a horny teenager."

Shit! Damn her frustrated libido for making her a heartless bitch. She knew it was their last time together. The man Yumichika had tried so hard not to fall in love with would be busy preparing for a raid, then riding off with the prince. By the time the army returned, Yumi would already be gone, his contract finished.

"Oh, honey! I'm sorry. I can't believe I forgot. Are you okay?"

Stupid question. His beautiful heart was broken, of course he wasn't okay.

"What? I'm fine. Why wouldn't I be? Today, tomorrow, and then I'm free. But I didn't come to find you to talk about me. You're still going to the wedding, yes?"

Tough as they come, his act would have fooled anyone but her. Certainly it had fooled that bald moron. Damned fool had managed to win the love of the most gorgeous man alive, and the idiot didn't have a clue. They must beat all the sense out of them in the army. He had forbidden her confronting the stupid bastard, though she was sure Ikkaku wouldn't react the way Yumi feared. But they had both seen it before, some helpless whore confessing love and the object of that love lashing out or laughing so cruelly. It was fine to pay for the pretense of affection, but the whole point was that the client wanted service, not obligation.

She followed his lead; if he needed to pretend he wasn't dying inside, she could only support him and hope.

"You know it! They can't have a royal wedding without the Queen of Whores. You're going to help me, aren't you? No one does my make-up half as well. I think I should pin my hair up, show off my back. I'm wearing that red number that shows all the way down to the top of my ass. See if Gin can resist that, frigid old man. I swear if he doesn't fuck me soon I'm going to start giving it away. Should have enough men drooling over me in that dress, anyway, I'll just line them up and . . ."

"Ran!"

"Huh? What is it, honey?"

"Before you get carried away again, the little white-haired kid . . ."

"Toshiro? What about him?"

Suddenly she was completely focused, dropping the bubbly rambling that she had been happily indulging in to cheer up Yumi. Her stomach had been in knots since the day the boy was taken away, limp and unconscious over Shuhei's shoulder. She knew better, but she had rushed to Gin's office anyway, demanding to know what would happen to the boy, as if she didn't know already. Had she done something so impertinent a year ago, Gin would have had her punished severely. Instead, he had just stood and stared, the very lack of anger or any expression at all making a chill run down her spine. He said nothing to her stuttered apology, nothing as she backed out of the office. She had never asked about the boy again.

What was it about that kid? She had seen young men and women come and go, some in tragedy, others in pain, a few in willing gladness. Toshiro had been here and gone so quickly, and she never had to witness him hurt beyond the bruises and chains he arrived with. So why did she lie awake with useless prayers in her head that the boy was safe?

"Now, don't get upset, but I heard some things from Ikkaku. Word around the palace is Ichigo may not have been as nice to the kid I thought he would be."

Yumichika let out a very girlish yelp when she lunged at him, grabbing a fistful of hair on either side of his head, perhaps a bit too forcefully.

"I'm going to kill that strawberry bastard! Tear his dick off and feed it to him, do his new wife a favor."

"Gods, you're strong! Let go of my hair or there's not a chance in hell I'm helping you with yours."

She growled at him but let go and he dropped her wrists. Her voice dropped, noticing the two in the nearby pool now staring over at them.

"You tell me everything, right now, or so help me . . ."

"Easy, easy, what do you think I came here for? There's nothing really to tell, just rumors. But Ikkaku said the prince had a lover moved into the room of the first mistress the night of his Ascension. The healer, you know the scary one, she was called to the chamber the next morning. That's all I know."

That was enough.

ooooooooooOOOOOOOOOOoooooooooo

It was not a great surprise when he woke alone, not even any lingering warmth between him and the edge of the bed. It was, however, something of a shock to wake to a stranger bent down to stare at him from not 5 feet away. Toshiro froze for one held breath, then scrambled backward, clutching at the sheet which was, thankfully, still draped over him from the waist down and pulling it higher. Forgetting in his startlement just where he was and what his position as a slave meant, he shouted at the strange boy with the imperious demand of a lord in his own manor.

"Who the hell are you?"

The frown of concentration vanished into a tight smile, gray eyes softening. The boy suddenly didn't seem nearly as threatening without that look of intense focus but did not seem inclined to answer the simple question. The intruder was, in fact, even smaller than Hanataro, who he now spotted several feet behind the stranger, head turned away but stealing glances.

"Hanataro, who is this person and why is he here?"

The timid man jumped and took a few steps forward, still obviously trying not to look at Toshiro. So timid, the man's mouth opened, but all that come out was a whispered mumble. Meanwhile, the blond boy was snickering, looking over at the healer with a wink like they shared some joke. He was over the initial shock and was starting to get irritated. Hanataro was useless to him if the man ran away or turned into a stuttering mess every time he saw something embarrassing. He was a kept whore; embarrassing situations were all he had to look forward to. And the stranger was still just standing there like he owned the place, both now ignoring his question.

He hated cowering in the middle of the bed, glaring at them for blatant disrespect he could do nothing about. Fine, if his owner could do it without shame, so could he. He flung off the sheet and moved quickly to the edge of the bed, standing an arm's reach from the stranger, completely naked and not hiding it. The boy was even shorter than him, and the giggle had cut off, the gray eyes wide and wandering, jaw hanging open, face going nearly as red as Hanataro's.

"Fine. I'm going to take a bath. Get out or be prepared to explain yourself when I return."

A few steps toward the bathroom and he was passing a shocked Hanataro, who managed to speak.

"The L-Lady Isane th-thought you might n-need more help to-today. So, sh-she sent her . . . her . . . sis-sister."

He should run. Every part of him wanted to bolt for the bathroom, lock the door, and never come out. But he just stood there, slowly feeling his brain come to terms with his naked backside being ogled by a young girl . . . who had also just been exposed to his naked front. Now all three of them were red-faced and speechless. Well, not all three.

"It's alright, my lord. I have four brothers, nothing I haven't seen before. How did you get those marks on your butt, anyway? Look, Hanataro. Don't they look just like hands?"

He ran.

ooooooooooOOOOOOOOOOoooooooooo

He did not wait to be summoned. His father's morning routine was as reliable as the sunrise, and he now had the right to present himself at the king's chambers, which he did after a short amount of time for the king to wake. There was no doubt in his mind that the king already knew all the particulars of the events leading up to the Kenpachi being severely wounded, and he the calm, almost disinterested air about the king as he was shown into the sitting room was no comfort. Aizen Sousuke could look calm and friendly while disemboweling a kitten . . . or a son.

He bowed and waited, expressionless, while the penetrating gaze swept over him.

"Sit, my son. You must be exhausted."

Allowing a twitch of his lips, a grin suppressed, was a calculated move as he took the offered seat. He would be contrite if that was indicated, but arrogance and confidence were a big factor in getting him this far, as long as they were accompanied by very respectful behavior. It was difficult not to slouch into the comfortable, well-padded chair; he had never been so thankful for the rigorous lifestyle that allowed him to operate on little sleep.

"Less than a week as my heir and already destroying the power structure of my kingdom. There will be a new Kenpachi within days. The challenges will start as soon as the tribe is aware that Zaraki will never fight as effectively as he once had. Tell me, did you consider this before you wrecked an alliance only hours from being secured?"

Not a chance he would admit that the thought didn't cross his mind until the monster was down and his new family secure. When he had seen Toshiro pinned to the wall, one squeeze away from death, he hadn't thought of anything at all except ending the threat.

"I did, father, but the insult was too great to be allowed. The man would have killed my future wife, and nearly killed my lover. Only his shameful drunkenness stayed me from executing him."

"A mercy he will not thank you for, I think. Well, at least this day will be less tedious. No point marrying the girl without her father."

A deep breath, he had hoped this would not be mentioned. The king was correct, and perhaps he should immediately agree, trained for years to make the best choice for the security of himself and the kingdom without emotional consideration beyond pride. Orihime was now worth nothing, politically. He barely knew the girl, he did not love her . . . yet. Something told him that he might one day, and he had always been a creature of instinct. Besides, there was another side to this, a declaration of strength and power to taking a wife that had no valuable connections.

"I have thought on it, and I would like to wed Orihime today as planned."

The slight narrowing of brown eyes could be so many things, amusement, anger, analysis, or nothing at all except a ruse to unnerve him. A lifetime of knowing the man, and he couldn't read his father at all, only make conclusions based on his own reasoning. His own countenance was still calm, attentive. How tragic it would be if he made it all the way to heir apparent only to be discarded or killed because of a woman he just met.

"Would you not rather make a new match that is more advantageous and keep the girl as a mistress?"

The wording gave him what he needed. The king would not push the issue because there was a political advantage to the marriage after all. To insist that the heir's wife had to bring some alliance or gain would imply that the throne needed such support. He did not let it show, but he wanted to crow in triumph, laugh as he worked one small chunk out of the throne to keep for himself.

"I believe my strength better shown by honoring my word. If I may, the control of the Kenpachi's tribe could be salvaged."

The king rested his chin on one heavily callused hand, a silent invitation to continue, and a silent approval of the decision to go ahead with the wedding.

"The Kenpachi's rivals to a man hate the throne because of the favor shown to Zaraki and will fiercely resist any authority. If the new Kenpachi does not attack our emissaries and raid our villages, I would frankly be amazed. The other tribes will follow, so at least the army will get some exercise putting them all back in their place. If you do not already have a candidate to back, there is one that would be almost guaranteed victory, would excel in taming the tribe without breaking their position over the other tribes, and would be an ally. Though I admit he would be no easily controlled puppet."

"You speak of Starrk?"

 _Do not gloat, do not grin._ Odds were, the cunning old devil already knew every word he was about to say. The king likely had his own candidates ready to move, ready to take the leadership of the greatest of the tribes and continue to receive support from the throne. He may be sending his own candidate to face off with one or more chosen by the king, but he had faith in his man's fighting skills.

"Capable, no doubt. However, Starrk can barely tolerate having a unit at his back. A tribe of a thousand he would not accept for any price. Grimmjow, one of Starrk's men. He's ambitious, ruthless, and nearly my match with a sword. He would do a credible job as a leader, and a fantastic job as a general. We would lose nothing if he fails to win."

ooooooooooOOOOOOOOOOoooooooooo

She stood facing the wardrobe, her wedding dress hung on the door. Isane fidgeted beside her, a small team of women behind her, all come to help her prepare for the parade through the upper districts and then her wedding. Tatsuki, uncomfortable with all the drama and frills, had taken back the role of guard, pacing from the door to the table full of food and back again.

The dress was the product a year of work by three seamstresses, the wealth of the tribe in silk with silver and gold embroidery. Deep blue, not because the color suited her, but because it was one of the most expensive dyes, another way to advertise the value of the bride. It was impractical, conservative, not at all reflecting the culture she was marrying into but rather the one she was escaping. She could tell Isane was dismayed, before the reaction was hidden behind cheer and compliments for the workmanship. That, she could not complain about. It was beautiful if you only thought of it in those terms. Only yesterday morning, she had thought it the most beautiful thing she would ever wear. Now, after just one taste of her new wardrobe, she hated the thing.

"Tatsuki, what do you think of my dress?"

Her friend snorted inelegantly, reaching for another fig and not even looking. It would cover her from just under her chin to below her wrists, and drag along the ground, a dress to suit the Kenpachi's ideas of noble chastity. The tribes would expect a 'princess' to wear such, a clear statement of the woman's purpose. Not a warrior, not a worker, but a prized broodmare for men of status, only to be seen and touched by the one she was given to. There would be representatives from their tribe and others at the wedding who might be offended if she did not wear this. She no longer cared if they were honored or insulted by anything about her.

Only her prince's opinion mattered, and he would think the dress ridiculous. This was not the dress she wanted to wear standing by him for the first time as his wife. And it was not the dress she wanted him to take off tonight.

"Isane. Is it a crazy idea, or do you think I could wear something else?"

The relief on the woman's face was all the answer she really needed. She was right, the dress would have been a disaster, introducing her to the masses as someone almost foreign, though the tribes were very much a part of Hueco Mundo. Isane rushed to the wardrobe.

"I know just where to start, my lady. We'll need some embellishments, and maybe we'll need to adjust the color. I'll have to match it to the shade of red the prince is wearing. It can get done in time, I swear it."

Orihime stared at the gown, wondering how it could be embellished. It was more modest than the racy green thing she had worn last night, but far more in line with Las Noches. Her shoulders would be covered, but by nearly transparent gold lace, arms bare. The shocking part was the torso, sheer gold, she could see Isane's hand clearly through both layers. Red flowers would barely cover her breasts, blooming from thick gold vines crawling up the skirts and around her torso, scattering smaller blossoms as they went. She could tell it would hug her waist, the opaque fabric dipping in a scandalous V in the front, enough to make her blush just imagining the effect, the hint that it might reveal too much though it clearly didn't. In contrast, the skirts were long, layered red with the gold vines, split down the front to reveal gold cloth underneath as she walked.

Even Tatsuki had stopped eating to stare wide-eyed, swallowing as big brown eyes turned to her, a slow smile indicating approval.

"It's perfect, Hime. You'll stop his heart."

"Alright. Thank you, Isane."

Mature words, ruined by nervous giggles and wide smiles all around. Isane huddled with several of the ladies, all chattering about what was needed and who would be forced to help her pull off a miracle in only four hours. Then most of the women left with the dress to turn it into a wedding gown fit for the Princess of Hueco Mundo. It was right. She would show all the court and the entire city that she belonged, a princess at home here, confident and bold. If she could convince them, convincing herself should be easy.

ooooooooooOOOOOOOOOOoooooooooo

They had made it out of the wastelands before dawn, only riding until an hour after sunrise before making camp. They and the horses were doing just fine, not far enough into the hard journey to be worn out before they turned back. No, the changed plans, the early camp, all for the tiny carcass that hadn't had the common sense to stop breathing yet. Grimm supposed he should be relieved. Starrk probably wouldn't even reprimand him if the thing died, it was in pretty bad shape when they found it. But he's rather avoid the solemn stare that made him feel like a chastised child, and the ruthless taunting from Starrk's pet for not being able to do such a simple job.

He sighed, trudging over to the fire for some of the thick stew. Last to the pot, thanks to the human baggage. There was enough, and a good-sized chunk of dry bread to make up for the small portion. Especially since he'd have to try to get the thing to eat some. At least he'd get out of guard duty.

It was mumbling when he returned. It had done that a bit when he tossed it over his shoulder earlier. He hadn't meant to be rough, but no one was stepping up to help him get off his horse without dropping it on the ground and be damned if he'd ask for help. He glared, but figured if it was trying to talk, it might be awake enough to eat.

A simple lean-to of cloth provided shade, not for him to sleep as usual, but for the pile of every soft thing he could find. On top of the pile rested a bundle of bones wrapped up in dry skin, burnt wherever the dirty cloth didn't cover. A twinge of pity, both for the painful way to die and for the idiocy. This person either had no idea how to travel in the desert, or it hadn't had a choice, discarded or chased or lost.

Fuck it, the thing should just die. If it didn't, it would likely be sold in the slave markets. And a ragged, tiny thing would not attract a decent buyer. Better to just die, little bird, little sack of bones. Die free.

"Shit."

Thin, scorched eyelids moved for the first time. He sincerely hoped it wasn't conscious as he dipped the cotton in the water and dabbed the split and peeling lips. That had to hurt. He had put himself through a stupid survival challenge back in the regular army. He remembered water on lips like stiff leather, how badly it stung as moisture opened the rifts and made them feel again. He lifted the cotton rag a bit and squeezed to dribble water between the faintly moving lips instead.

"You awake?" Brown eyes, completely unfocused. "Can you hear me?"

He was relieved when the hint of brown rolled back, eyes closing and senseless whispers ending. With any luck, it would die before waking again.

"Who's Toshiro?"

Grimmjow prided himself on his instincts and reflexes. Fortunately, he managed to stop his hand as it reached the dagger at his waist. He would never admit that his heart had jumped into his throat. Damn kid was unnatural. No one, not even Starrk, could sneak up on him, especially when he was wide awake. Until the troop had stumbled on the freak. No typical desert stray, Lilynette had been left in the dunes, small and strange, probably when she was very young. Most gave girls a little more leeway than weak boys. Girls at least might make wives for those who couldn't get proper, strong women.

The feral child hadn't died. Living nocturnally, as successful a scavenger and opportunistic killer as a coyote, the slip of a girl couldn't remember how long she had thrived instead of dying like she was supposed to. She had temporarily forgotten language and any civility she may have had. The snarling brat had been caught by Nel, presented to Starrk held high by the scruff, and the desert creature had become strangely compliant as she looked at the cold killer, recognizing kin.

At first, the girl followed her alpha everywhere like a proper pup. As months stretched to years, she grew more confident and social, then annoyingly friendly. But the squad was her pack. She was fiercely loyal, aggressive to any threat. Her preternatural senses gave them yet another advantage, saved them unnecessary risks, and every one of them, even Grimm, would die for her. She still scared the shit out of the rest of them on a regular basis.

"Fuck, Lil!" She giggled. "Leave me alone for five minutes, would ya?" He tried to cover the moment of fright with irritation.

"Who's Toshiro?"

"The fuck are you talkin' about?"

"She said Toshiro, like three times."

"Huh?"

"Can I talk to her?"

"Nope. It's asleep again."

"She."

"It's a girl?"

The single pink eye stared at him, a sad look that pissed him off. So, he couldn't hear a nearly dead thing breathe from a quarter mile away. So, he couldn't sniff out that the almost-corpse was female. He wasn't an animal, unlike the feral albino brat. Creepy, too, how she never tanned, running around with barely any clothes and pale as a ghost. Tan? Shit, she should be burnt far worse than his little bird.

What? Not his anything, except his fucking pain in the ass.

"Course she's a girl. Just matured, so maybe 13 or 14. Not from anywhere near the desert. You should clean her up a bit before she really wakes up. Girls don't like being all dirty."

"Knew you weren't a girl."

He looked back down when Lilynette giggled again and bounded off to harass someone else. Carefully, he wet the cotton again, dabbed the dry lips, trickled some drops between them. He leaned over to reach his saddlebags and found the two reasonably clean strips of cloth he sometimes wrapped around his hands. Sopping up the rest of the water, he started wiping away the dust and grime, wincing at the small whimpers. Maybe he could find some burn salve for the tormented skin.

ooooooooooOOOOOOOOOOoooooooooo

They had traveled the night through. Underpromise and overdeliver, a good way to do business when you could. She had told Ichigo three days, and the prince hadn't complained even though three days would mean the new princess would be defended by those less capable on the wedding day. Some of the team would make it tomorrow, just on time. She and her old man would be more than enough to deter any would-be assassins today. Few would go up against either of them. Together, well, any attacker had better bring an army.

"The guards here are sloppy. Not one has questioned us since the main gate."

Not slowing the quick pace, she did so love to make him rush when he insisted on wearing those stupid, impractical, ugly clogs, she glanced at him. Kisuke was most often a bubbly buffoon, distracting everyone and deliberately causing people to underestimate him. He was serious now, eyes mapping and analyzing, never having been beyond the public spaces of the palace.

"Security is selective on purpose. The king has always said any enemy can walk in, and if he can't handle them, he shouldn't be king. So, the guards are mostly to break up fights between guests and carry away the bodies."

"But the boy prince hired you. He's soft, eh?"

She snorted. Prince Ichigo was as soft as they come in some ways, harder than diamond in others. Her husband would figure that out fast; she had great respect for his ability to size up an opponent in a heartbeat and almost always followed his lead in matters of strategy. Her husband and her prince were destined to bond strongly to one another or to hate each other with fatal fierceness.

"We're temporary, jackass. It's the new princess who is soft. Apparently that jackal who raised her didn't teach her how to cut an apple, let alone a man."

"Probably worried she'd cut his throat if he gave her a knife. I know I would."

Taking the stairs by twos may be a bit undignified in other noble houses, but here in the home of Hueco Mundo's royalty there was a mix of uptight courtiers and the warriors who kept their posh hides safe. That wasn't entirely fair, she thought, since most heads of noble houses did plenty of time in the army. A noble without a military background wouldn't be taken seriously here. Ignoring the clopping of the ridiculous footgear behind her, she turned into the prince's hallway and spotted the single guard outside the princess's door.

"Hey, Chad! Where's the tattooed porcupine?"

A shrug of broad, solid shoulders, and she sighed in disappointment. This one was no fun to tease at all. She wouldn't have minded a turn in bed with him if he had a bit more personality. Oh well, at least she could torture her husband a bit. The loquacious lunatic wouldn't know what to do with this one.

"Sweetie, keep the big guy here company while I go see the bride. And mind your fucking manners, no peeking."

"Yes, my precious flower. So, you're a big fella. You're the prince's guard?"

Silence except for her parting snicker as she barged in without knocking. Start as you mean to go on, she figured, sidestepping with a bored expression as a girl dressed as a tribal fighter lunged at her with a long, curved dagger. The girl whirled and moved to swipe again but was sprawling on the floor with that knife hand held tight behind her before the youngster knew what had happened.

"Down boy. Drop it."

"Bite me!" From the pinned attacker.

"Tatsuki!" From the maiden in distress wringing soft white hands about ten feet away.

"Lady Yoruichi!" From the tall lady . . . Isolde? Isabel?

She pinched the wrist in her hand, grabbed the knife that dropped from numbed fingers, and stood all in the time it took for them to shut up. The little desert girl sprang to her feet and faced her in a crouch, slowly moving to get in between her and the pale redhead. Potential, but the girl was sloppy for one of the Kenpachi's tribe. Something must have distracted the girl from proper training, from dedicating herself fully to becoming a desert warrior. Yoruichi looked over the head of the growling little pup to smile at its mistress.

"Lady Orihime, I presume. I'm the head of your prince's household security." Her eyes flicked back to the startled and suspicious glare with a quick wink. "I will be the one keeping you all safe today."

There was a muffled "Me too!" from the other side of the thick door. As she gave a graceful bow, her foot lashed out and kicked the door hard, satisfied with the yelp from the clown with his ear pressed to the wood. Then she flipped the dagger and held out the hilt.

"If you're going to play with sharp objects, learn how to use them first."

"Who the hell do you think . . ."

"Tatsuki! Please."

"My lady, Lady Yoruichi is a very famous warrior, head of an ancient family, and friend of the prince." She smirked. Soft palace nobles and their silly euphemisms. Very famous warrior, my ass. Just say assassin like a grown woman! "If she says the prince asked her to guard you, I believe it."

All the fun was over, well, most of it. Pleasantries were exchanged, albeit with an air of distrust from the 'lady-in-waiting' and a kind of stunned confusion from the soon-to-be princess. At least the pretty redhead sorted herself out quickly, hiding any doubts behind an almost believable confidence. That kind of doe-eyed innocence was charming but wouldn't do at all in a royal of this house of killers.

She didn't miss the way the new princess looked to Isane for approval, and to the still bristling pup for courage. Poor thing. Taken from any chance of a normal life and raised under the thumb of a beast, now perched on a tiny pedestal over a pit of vipers. If this girl had been the king's new wife, she'd be eaten alive by her husband and his mistresses. But, she mused as the princess was bustled out of the room for a bath by Isane and two women she didn't know and didn't care to, Ichigo was a very different story.

The self-appointed guardian of the princess hesitated, eyes following the red hair then darting back to her. The girl decided to stay, keeping an eye on the dangerous intruder apparently more critical than keeping an eye on the lovely, pale, evidently sweet-natured bride.

"Tatsuki, was it?"

Another glare was aimed her way and she rolled her eyes. She might be willing to teach the girl, but only if the proud little thing admitted her failings. Otherwise, the guard really was no better than a lady in waiting.

"So, how long you been in love with our gentle little Princess Orihime?"

ooooooooooOOOOOOOOOOoooooooooo

The girl was gone when he came out after having stayed in the tub until his fingers wrinkled. Why it should matter if it was a girl that saw him naked he couldn't quite explain, but he did not want to repeat the experience. Hanataro sat at the desk, only partly aware of his return if at all, nose stuck in a book. Crumbs and dirty plates on the desk said the man hadn't waited to share breakfast, which had gotten cold while he slowly pruned.

Adjusting the thick robe, he sat in the chair facing the cart and watched the oblivious man, face obscured by shaggy brown hair. Time was an odd thing, he mused as he started picking at the breakfast set out for him. He had planned to wait, to develop some trust between them before asking Hanataro any serious questions. The prince had made it clear that he could ask anything, but he wanted to know the healer, know if he could believe any answers given. And he had thought he would have all the time in the world to do this. He had thought that a bedslave would have nothing but time, waiting around to be used for someone else's pleasure.

Instead, he felt harassed and stressed with all that had happened in such a short amount of time. And today he would have to face the royal family. All the stories of Hueco Mundo, all he had read in the histories, and most importantly his owner's own words warned him that he would be walking into the lion's den, defenseless, with not a clue how to act. Should he grovel at the feet of the King, or would even that be too presumptuous of a slave? Should he speak or be staunchly mute, eyes down or up, walk beside his owner or behind, obey orders from anyone or only his master?

"Hanataro, can you help me understand something?"

Sipping the lukewarm, dark liquid as the man nodded without looking away from his reading he decided this was one thing he didn't like here. It was bitter and left an aftertaste that was sour and unpleasant, the flavor interfering with the taste of the food rather than complimenting it. He would save asking for tea with breakfast for later, more important answers were within reach. He debated one more moment and decided to take the risk.

"Where I come from, slavery is becoming rare. Decades ago, a slave was at the very bottom of the social ladder, little more than a beast of burden. Other than ones with learning who served as instructors, clerks and such, a slave was ordered or ignored, not conversed with, and certainly not given any respect." The blue eyes had turned and fixed on him, wide and growing nervous. "But now, slaves are treated well, though still not granted personal rights. Many have been freed and ending slavery entirely has gained common support.

"It's not the same here, that's clear. But I don't understand the differences. Do you see what I'm trying to ask? No one has told me what it means to be a slave here. I don't know how to respond, how to act appropriately."

He could see the hesitation, the reluctance to answer. Pride meant little if he got himself killed or chained up, so he bit his tongue hard to bring a little moisture to his eyes and added some emotion to his voice, a hint of panic, of fear.

"I'm worried, Hanataro. Honestly, I'm scared, always so scared. I've already said and done some things I don't think I should have. If I don't know what's expected of me, I'm just going to get myself hurt or worse. I'm not asking you to let me escape. I'm not asking you to betray anyone. Just, please, Hanataro, can you help me understand?"

That did it. The tenderhearted healer had gone from defensive to looking like he might cry. He could deal with the underlying pity, as long as he got some answers. And he trusted his instincts; Hanataro was a great deal more intelligent than he let on.

"Well . . . let's see. Everything depends on the owner. Some nobles have a hundred or more slaves, artisans, shopkeepers, smiths, guards. Many slaves of higher class owners are well-respected, some quite wealthy. They don't have rights, but they are treated well out of respect for their owners. There are just as many doing hard work, drudges and laborers that may be treated terribly, killed, tortured. Anyone can hurt them; the only consequence is paying the owner for damages. The only thing a slave can't be is an officer in the army, but many are soldiers. There are at least 4 slaves that I know who have married lords and ladies of the court. And any owned slave can become a free citizen simply by the will of their owner, which often happens when they are older or if they make their owner a lot of money.

"There's a second class of slaves, too, citizens who sell themselves into temporary slavery. They forfeit rights for a contracted amount of time for a set amount of money. It is common for the poor to do this, and younger children who will get no share of an inheritance. Depending on the terms of the contract, they may simply receive housing and food for labor, or they may earn quite a lot of money for skilled service. Citizen slaves can never be branded, though, and if they are treated badly they can bring their case before the king's justice."

He shut his mouth with a loud click. He had gotten far enough in the histories to start getting a hint that society here was vastly different. For one thing, over half of the residents in Las Noches were considered slaves. If they were all treated like animals, a rebellion would be certain. But this complex social structure was unlike anything he'd heard of. Clearly, slavery was deep-rooted in society and the economy; it wasn't going anywhere soon.

"And royal mistresses? Is that what I am, not just a sex slave?"

He kept his tone even, factual, but the rosy cheeks and averted eyes were back.

"Please, Hanataro. I have to know."

"If you were just, um, just a . . . um, you wouldn't be here."

"Here as in this room? Or in the palace?"

"Both. This is the room of the favored lover of the heir. Unohana told me to treat you like a royal mistress, even if you haven't been made official."

"What does that mean? Being made official, that is."

"It's a special rank. Royal mistresses and . . . lovers, they are quite respected. They can be temporary, unofficial. Those that are official are the ones that the king or prince intend to keep, and they are truly powerful. To everyone else, they are an extension of the king or prince. They can lose their place in the palace, of course, if the king no longer wants them. But unless they do something terrible, they leave with their rank intact whether they are slaves or citizens."

"And . . . how is it done? A ceremony or something?"

"Nothing that complicated. If the prince gives you an emerald to wear, that means you're officially part of the royal household. Only the king and his family are allowed to wear emeralds. All mistresses show off their emerald, usually a necklace or something in their hair so everyone can see it."

He downed the rest of the foul drink in one swallow, wishing it was the strong, sweet alcohol from last night's dinner, thoughts racing. No wonder his owner had been shocked that he was unhappy with an emerald collar. Had the man simply explained . . . but no. He was not trusted. Just as he told as little as possible, just as he chose his words with care and tried to manipulate his owner's opinion of him, so too the prince was cautious.

"The King is the absolute authority here. The prince is second. Then the queen if there was one, royal advisers, and the heads of some of the oldest families. King's mistresses are next, any official favorite, then citizens, then slaves. Then the prince's wife, though if she is strong enough she could stand equal to or even above the King's mistresses. Then you, if the prince makes it official."

"Then . . . me."

"Then you. If you become the prince's official lover, you will outrank almost everyone in Hueco Mundo."

Staccato rapping on the door had Hanataro jumping to answer while Toshiro drew a deep breath, trying to slow his heart. An almost unbearable sensation, hope, was starting to grow once more. He wasn't sure he'd survive if it was crushed again. A hyper voice broke his concentration.

"Good thing you have me! Girls, do your thing. My Lord, these gentlemen have a delivery for you. Hanataro, I'm sure you were just about to clean up that mess and lay out my lord's clothing. Go on, don't just stand there, lazy boy."

A lord, was he? He stood, casually.

"Hanataro, what is the young lady's name?"

The young man looked back and forth rapidly as the girl's eyes widened.

"Um . . . Lady Kiyone."

"Lady Kiyone, thank you for bringing maids to help, as Hanataro has more important things to do than cleaning. I'm sure you can find someone to handle meal delivery from now on, as well. Hanataro, please assist me. Gentlemen, if you would be so kind."

It was only the two older men today, father and son he assumed. Seeing that they had brought one display case, he gestured for it to be set up, ignoring the blinking, slightly pink face of the bossy girl who had the nerve to stare at him in bed and speak so highhandedly to Hanataro. The young man trotted toward him after a sheepish look at Kiyone.

He heard a gratifying gasp behind him as the case was opened, revealing the array of jewelry featuring various gems including many emeralds. And the top row was reserved for the two collars. He smiled, calm enough now to appreciate the beauty of both pieces, though one was obviously the magnum opus of a true artist. The slightly younger merchant, the one who had sized the jewelry, who had been allowed to handle him so familiarly, picked up the stunning collar and his smile faded.

"Shall we check the size?"

"You may not touch me, ever again."

The man looked bewildered by his firm declaration. But the elder placed a hand on the younger's, pushing until the collar was placed down. He looked at the elder.

"Is this your work, sir?"

"It is, my lord. Though it was made many years ago when these hands were steadier."

"Would you do me the honor, sir?"

He walked away without waiting for a response, to stand in front of the long mirror by the wardrobe, Hanataro following uncertainly and Kiyone stepping out of his way quickly. He loosened and shrugged the plain white robe, exposing more of his neck and shoulders. He looked like he had survived a horrible fight, which in fact he had though many of the marks were definitely not from the fight, bruises round and oval from just below his ear all the way down and across each shoulder. And around his neck, obviously from strangulation if one studied how it was a single thick band on one side, and on the other side the four blackened lines, purple between. How many would assume his own master's hand had done this?

The artist's hands, fingers curved and knotted with age, were perfectly steady as they carefully circled his neck, laying the metal in place and deftly working the clasp. It fit high on his throat, the wide collar a thick, platinum lace beautifully pallid over darkened skin, the intricate hanging web tickling his collarbones, the dozen small but brilliant emeralds flashing as they caught every bit of light. It obscured but did not hide the damage fully. Such a lovely thing; it would, in fact, draw far more attention to the discoloration.

"It is magnificent, sir, and I am humbled. I shall be sure to thank the prince for so fine a gift."

The old man bowed, and for a moment he felt like himself again. Until he realized he was staring at his reflection, mauled and marked, wearing a collar that he would thank another man for allowing him to wear. He sighed, wondering how much longer it would take to forget the past.


	23. Passion

_Shivering with passion_  
 _As soon as his lips on mine_  
 _Lust creeps up my whole spine_  
 _His large hands playing on me_  
 _All inches of body aching for more_  
 _Keep up your powerful skill_  
 _Withdraw my resistance out_  
 _To make me without any will_  
 _Just panting for him_

~ Morhardt Carmen Mencita Monoi Angel

* * *

When he was 12, one of the highest-ranking lords in Seireitei had gotten married. The man was a second cousin to the king, the bride tied to the crown through a few marriages over the generations, and so the event warranted a grand soiree. Seireitei being large, wealthy, and mostly at peace, the wedding was a fine excuse for a three-day celebration across the entire kingdom, and he had been right in the heart of it. His rank made him endure stiff clothes, stiff postures, stiff parties which were likely much more lively and festive than he remembered. His age let him get away with escaping with Karin to enjoy the around-the-clock street fairs, spoiling their appetites and their clothes as they evaded any guards and nobles who might be looking for them, watching the parades and plays, spying on the foreign nobility with the commoners instead of standing in a line in the sun to formally greet the guests.

It was an excellent memory, days and nights of frivolity with very mild chastisement from his uncle and the prince, the men too distracted and too proud of the fact that royal and noble children could run and play in the streets of the capitol without a serious risk. Peace was a hallmark of his childhood, with one night of violence and the loss of his father a glaring exception, standing out all the more in the memories of peace. Peace and plenty.

On the journey from freedom to slavery, he had seen little of the desert's inhabitants before the great city of Las Noches. Whether the bitch had skirted villages and towns, or whether settlements were simply as rare as one might expect in the desert, he did not know. Outside of the massive walls was a slum. He could not see it, locked in a carriage with windows shuttered, but he could hear it, feel it, smell it, filth and despair that sank into every sense and weighted down the soul.

Such abject poverty barely existed back home, and nothing on the scale it did here. Even within the walls, it was more than an hour before he could breathe without cringing, that sliver of the world bared to his senses making him ashamed to bemoan his lot even as it made him fear for his future even more. A slave in such a society, where even the free were ready to murder for scraps, his own fears overtook any sympathy he might have felt.

Now, in the heart of the kingdom, he could not see any of that dirt and desperation. Wealth was dripping from every surface, every finger, everywhere his eye traveled. Even the commoners without precious gems displayed gold and bright, fine cloth. So bright, the contrast of the silks and linens dyed saffron and citrine, carmine and sapphire, brighter still on the background of sandstone white, gray, and tan. Yet still, he could strain his eyes into the distance, downhill, the city stretching as far as his vision and growing darker and darker with every step from the glittering center.

The disparity of it, the surface screaming of injustice, was hard to remember when witnessing a mass of happy, healthy humanity displaying seemingly genuine pride in the inequity as their royalty flaunted their power and even greater wealth than any could dare dream of. The noise of the celebratory crowds doubled, and the royal parade finished its circuit of the higher districts, coming home to the palace atop the sprawling city.

His owner stood out even in this colorful strutting of peacocks, blood red and shining black, flashes of green, that hair of flame now partly tamed by the light crown of silver and emerald. The man sat tall astride a blood bay that complimented the red and black, undeniably handsome and intimidating. This was the prince of the desert in his element, the morning sunlight making him glow, accentuating the cold expression that he knew well, the same look he had received when his owner looked at him huddled on the floor, and when he had been told he wasn't trusted.

He shook free of the ache that gripped his heart when he thought of such moments, letting his eyes drift to the bride. Even she, lady of the hour, rode a pale gray mare where a noble lady in his own kingdom would ride displayed in an open carriage, a side saddle the only delicate touch. It was needed, the stunning dress would never work astride, the layered skirts too fitted along thighs before loosening below. She was a vision, glossy hair left long and loose as it should be, pearls scattered into the length of it almost naturally. Where her prince maintained a fierce demeanor, she frequently let the practiced regality slip, eyes softening and lips curving every time she glanced at the man riding so close that her knees grazed his every few strides.

"So beautiful."

The sighed agreement from Hanataro made him aware that he had spoken. He wondered idly if Hanataro agreed while looking at the princess or the prince but didn't care enough to ask. As for himself, he couldn't help but appreciate them both. The prince inspired awe not just with his looks, but with the nearly palpable aura of power and command. As for the lady, beautiful was completely inadequate. He had seen beautiful. Rangiku came to mind, but only the paintings he had seen of his own mother could hope to rival Orihime, though the two looked nothing alike.

Another difference caught his eye as the king rode into the courtyard, the prince and his betrothed now blocked from his view as they approached the wide doors of the palace. While some of the men and women ranked high enough to ride so close to their masters did sport jewels or other finery, there was less on their persons than on many in the crowd, lining the streets, hanging out of windows and off roofs, waving flags and catching coins. No, men and women, young and old, these were warriors even now. Horses with manes braided with ribbons and flowers but plain, serviceable tack that was trusted and unadorned. Swords with gold-chased scabbards but scarred pommels and worn hilts. Clothing of fine cut, the most expensive of silks threaded with silver and gold, but nothing that could restrict the body or trip the feet clad in buffed but well-broken boots.

Even the royal mistresses, the sight of which he devoured and critiqued, rode astride and armed, though they did indulge in more decoration for themselves and their mounts. He found it to be just as Hanataro had said; emeralds flashed in hair, on necklaces, and on collars marking four as slaves. The lady with long hair black as spilled ink rode closest to the king. She wore gold and emerald pins in her hair, emerald teardrops hanging from her ears, and a necklace with a large emerald pendant surrounded by diamonds. The others wore one or two smaller gems each.

He fingered the elegant, single-emerald collar about his neck, worn in consideration of his owner's statement that it was safer to wear a collar outside of his room. He already intended to go back to fetch the more elaborate collar, the single piece having more emeralds than any of the women sported. The jewelry case had plenty to choose from, and he would make certain to at least equal this lady. His master, after all, had told him to shine like a star.

"Hanataro."

"Yes?"

There was an awkward shuffling of feet. The man was usually shy, but now was even more nervous dressed in one of Toshiro's simpler suits. A bit tight, but the healer's apprentice apparently had nothing but more drab and shapeless clothing, and Toshiro refused to be seen with a companion so poorly dressed today. Poor guy was still walking about dazed, too shocked to protest when Toshiro insisted the healer accompany him everywhere. He needed as least one person nearby that he was a little familiar with, that he had some small trust in, lost as he would soon be in this sea of strangers.

"The mistress closest to the king, what is her name?"

Silence for a few seconds. Then a soft voice.

"Lady Shutara, my lord, the royal favorite."

He turned just his head, confirming it was the guard who spoke, before looking intently again as the king's portion of the train began to break apart, lesser nobility and guards splitting off to get out of the way as the king's company approached the wide doors of the palace. They would soon leave his line of sight unless he indecorously leaned out over the wall.

It had been another unpleasant surprise, the two guards set to tail him all day today. Kiyone had explained that they were the prince's own personal guards, and that he would normally be under the protection of the household guards. Only, those were focused entirely on the soon-to-be princess. He wasn't happy about having guards around at all, yet he was more and more grateful as he eyed the sheer number of scarred, muscular, shifty-eyed fighters in the procession, in the crowd, and packing the open areas of the palace.

Perhaps there was an advantage apart from safety. He had noted Kiyone's behavior. That girl was definitely a courtier, and he knew how to read the small signs of deference when she introduced this guard. Prince's guard . . . such a position could be filled by a younger son of a noble house back in Seireitei, so the same could be true here. And the guard fit the picture, with a rather genteel air, not tall for Las Noches and slender, but partly exposed arms testified to strength. As for the woman, he had barely looked at her. She was dressed in nearly nothing, and he saw just enough to know that she was extremely attractive before he turned away to avoid embarrassing himself.

"Izuru, wasn't it? Do you know the names of all the mistresses?"

"I do. And every soldier or noble worth knowing."

Good. The man was proud and knew things Hanataro did not. He opened his mouth to ask for more names, then forgot as the royals passed out of view and his eye caught another face. Teeth snapped together and started to grind, skin suddenly tight and hot, hand on the stone rampart clenching into a tight fist. Long, pale face. Straight hair silvery with a strange tint of lilac. Sick grin and hidden eyes turning from the side to face front.

"And who is that," his voice shook slightly, and he clenched his fist harder to get control, "the one in white behind the royal family?"

He knew the answer but wanted to hear it. The guard had to step forward to look as the snake was about to vanish in the shadow of the wall.

"That is Gin, head of the Ichimaru family and the king's closest adviser. I do not know the woman. Strange, I've never seen him with a companion. A hundred families have been trying to get marriage ties to him. Must be foreign royalty; he wouldn't settle for less."

Some of his anger dissipated as he caught just a glimpse of shining blond hair and a porcelain face before she, too, left his sight.

"Ran."

"Pardon, my lord?"

"Her name is Rangiku."

Gratified by the surprise on the guard's face, he turned his attention back to the procession. Funny that he knew absolutely nothing about the people below, or next to nothing. Yet he knew one little name that the guard did not and thus seemed to know so much more. It was a small victory, being given a little credit, and he would take it.

He hadn't planned to attend the wedding proper, though he had been tempted to change his mind after hearing Hanataro's explanation of his place in the hierarchy of the court. Now, he was looking forward to it, and he returned to his room to prepare.

ooooooooooOOOOOOOOOOoooooooooo

It was like a dream, though so much better than the dreams she'd had until this day. Nervousness was swallowed by happiness as she met the pretty mare that her fiancée had brought as a gift, and before she knew it the procession formed around them. She rode in a sort of daze, acknowledging the cheering crowds when she thought of it but mostly gazing at the man who rode close, kind words spoken quietly and often, tenderness and warmth a contrast to the slight scowl and cold eyes.

When he had appeared in the crowded courtyard, a path had opened before him without a word of command needed. She had seen the deference given to her guardian, those of other tribes submitting in fear, those of his own tribe stepping proudly aside in tribute to his prowess. There was a similar air surrounding her almost-husband, reminding her that the prince carried a reputation, victor of many battles, defeater of vicious rivals, a fighter even the Kenpachi respected.

For one moment, it had occurred to her that she should be afraid of this prince, this killer that her guardian had called a desert lion. But the hard look on the young face had softened, a gentle smile as he met her eyes first and then took in the rest of her. His gaze made her blush, his compliments made her smile, and the way he leaned in close, hard silk-clad muscles brushing against her, to whisper encouragement in her ear nearly took her breath away.

On either side of them were the two odd guards on foot, vanishing for stretches of time and reappearing, both strangely cheerful. Behind them rode Tatsuki, standing out in a higher quality dark bronze silk version of desert warrior garb that Isane had brought, much to the young woman's relief. She was given the honor of a place with the prince's friends, a man with hair brighter red than the prince's, with a matching fierce expression on his tattooed face and a large man with eyes hidden in shaggy brown bangs. And so many, many people, more than she had ever seen, cheering her prince, cheering her each time she turned her head to look at the multitude, every time she raised a hand to wave.

The procession moved unhurriedly through the streets of the three highest districts, and she once again noted the walls separating the populace, the slight change in quality each time they passed a gate. It was only the richest areas they visited, though eager hands reached for the coins thrown to the crowd in celebration, children running and screaming, the little ones allowed closer by the guards who handed out candies. Not the strange guards, the dark woman and the shaggy man the only ones not mounted. They, too, earned a wide berth and wary looks from the more common guards, despite the wide grins on their faces. She could swear they vanished from time to time, both unreasonably cheerful, but she reasoned she was only distracted by the way the orange light of the early day caught her handsome prince's hair and eyes, making him glow.

It was nearly two hours later, the sun starting to take its toll as it climbed toward noon, yet she felt as if they had only ridden for minutes. Only when they were approaching the palace again did she notice the ache in her legs and hips from the unaccustomed balance of riding side-saddle, discomfort forgotten when her almost-husband gave her another soft smile, large hands wrapping around her waist as he eased her dismount.

"We'll part now for just a little while, my princess. Take any chance you can to rest. They all must have a piece of us today."

She couldn't help a small gasp when he ducked his head close, lips brushing against her neck. And then he was gone so suddenly that she had to lean for a second against her calm mount until Tatsuki was beside her, taking her elbow and offering support. At least she didn't have to worry about being too nervous to follow through; the night could not come fast enough.

ooooooooooOOOOOOOOOOoooooooooo

More groans from behind her made her smile. It was not a kind expression, had anyone been present to judge it and shiver at the bitter coldness in her eyes. She quietly tended the horses, one that had carried her and the supplies, one that had struggled through the sands with the great weight tightly bound and strapped to its back. The sand was a little firmer here on the ghost of old, dry soil, the irrigated plots between the ruins and the scattered dead trees where the oasis once shone like a reflection of heaven. A few buildings had once stood with thick stone walls, the now empty shells holding banks of blown sand and offering patches of shade. This had once been the front of a gathering hall and travelers boarding house, a sturdy and high wall providing enough screen for the horses for now, the sliver of shadow growing thin with the sun crawling towards zenith.

Most patients waking up in a strange place with unexplained pain woke groggy, questioning, then panicking. Not this one. A few more groans and then he was cursing, struggling, no 'What? Where am I?' Straight to swearing to kill whoever had tied him up. She left him to roll on the sand while she let the horses drink. His throat must be dry as the desert, but he did not beg for or even demand the water that was being loudly slurped down by the big mare. The horse deserved it, having lugged his heavy, unconscious body so far from the city.

"I will release you soon, no need to shout."

"Release me now, woman! Do you know who I am?"

When she did not respond he began swearing and threatening again, words she did not bother to hear. The struggling and shouting had torn open the stitches on his face, the sand efficiently soaking up the blood. Sand was good at that, she thought to herself, and the desert here had soaked in gallons and gallons, somehow not permanently stained red. Only once the horses were settled did she approach the figure, still growling but less active now, attempting to work free of the ropes now that it was clear he could not break them.

Beady eyes watched her crouch far enough away that she could react before he tried anything like rolling into her. She pushed back the loose wrap protecting her head and face from the sun.

"I know you, bitch. You're the healer. What the fuck are we doing out here, then, Aizen gettin' rid of me?"

It had been a long night. Once she had stitched the fool up enough to keep him alive, she had used her authority to get the beast trussed like hunted game and left the city long before dawn. No doubt the king knew, probably the prince as well, and no one stopped her. She had ridden hooded through the streets of the city and the slums leading a horse carrying an obviously sinister package, and no one had stopped her.

"You don't know a thing about me, Zaraki. As for what we're doing out here, do you not recognize it?" He didn't bother to look, twisting his head down, trying unsuccessfully to bite through the rope across his chest. "This was a thriving town once, until you came. Over there was the oasis reliably fed by an underground stream. This was the major stop on the old route to Wandenreich. No one travels this way now."

"Ha! Is that what this is about? Don't know your fuckin' village, don't care. War is war, you're weak, you die. Don't do no good to fuckin' cry about it."

War was a nasty business, but there were degrees of horror. Towns and cities were conquered or destroyed, people were liberated, enslaved, killed. What had happened here was not unusual at the time, an unwarranted attack on city of Hueco Mundo by a desert tribe. The tribes had always been difficult to control, and the death of the king, the young Aizen Sousuke just stepped up to his throne, and a new Kenpachi created the perfect opportunity for the savages to raze the town, killing or enslaving every man, woman and child.

Cowards. Attacking their own was bad enough, but it was sheer stupidity and the darkest cruelty that had been unleashed here. Only a new, brash Kenpachi drunk on his own power and bloodlust would destroy an oasis, collapse the cave to choke the water, kill not only the settlement, but all possibility of life. Had King Aizen been settled, not new to the throne and busy securing his crown, the tribe would have been severely punished, the loss of the townsfolk minor compared to the loss of the water. Now, the army and the traders had to route an extra two days around the wastelands.

"Just on the other side of this wall is where your men left me, after they had finished. One stabbed me, right here," her hand rested just below her navel, where the jagged scar was still sensitive after all these years. "Two more raped me even as I died. But I did not, and I crawled trough the ash once the fires ceased to find there was enough water left in the oasis you buried, just enough to buy me time to stitch myself up. The infection that came later was more painful still, but unfortunately I managed to survive with the help of a military squad that came through the next morning."

The brute had rolled onto his back and stared at the sky. She couldn't tell whether he was listening, his ruined and dirty features almost serene. She had given him no medicine apart from one to keep him asleep. He must be in a staggering amount of pain after tearing open those wounds. The leg, in particular, had to be excruciating, but there was not a sign of any discomfort at all.

"My son's body was almost right where you are. One of the first killed, an arrow in his throat. He was always a lucky boy. The child in my womb was even more fortunate, gone before it knew the sadness of life. Their father died honorably, fighting as I had, though in the end over a thousand died. I killed the few who still suffered once I was able, including my own mother who received the same treatment I did."

She fell quiet, gazing at empty sand with a few scraggly weeds to mark the grave of the clear pool under tall date palms, figs, apricots. Such senseless waste. In her mind, she was seeing the field stretched between the roadhouse and the oasis, crops and trees set alight, her dazed eyes watching the black smoke as she lay in agony waiting for the end.

"You done? I don't give a fuck about your life, your village, or your dead kids. You can't win, you can always kill yourself to avoid the shame of losin', but makin' me listen to this shit is just wasted time. Kenpachis fight, they kill, they destroy. Don't fuckin' matter who."

"You never deserved the title. The Kenpachi is meant to be a leader, not just a butcher. Not that it matters now. You are no one."

"Don't pretend you're better'n me, cunt, not when you're torturin' a man that can't fight back. Get your revenge before I die of boredom."

Sighing, she realized that she would get no satisfaction out of this. The part of her that wanted vengeance, that grieved for her losses, that part was long dead. This whole thing was an act of habit, her body carrying out orders from long ago, unable to resist when Zaraki of all men was delivered into her hands. But there was no fire, no anger or grief left in her, and so there was no point at all in trying to make him suffer or repent.

She left him, returning to the supplies and setting aside a waterskin to prolong his survival, another act of cruel justice she no longer felt was necessary, but it had featured in dreams of a scenario like this, so she did it. No food, though some tough jerky would have been a good choice for his ruined teeth and torn cheek. No knife to make killing himself or any predators easier.

Tipping a small vial, she refreshed the liquid soaked into the cotton rag that had kept him quiet on the journey. He struggled a little, and maybe it was only her imagination that there was a flash of fear behind all the rage in his eyes and his curses. In the dreams she had not had for over a decade, she would make some pretty speech to her beloved dead as she cut him apart slowly, and she would feel more complete and at peace the more blood and skin and screams she tore from him. Instead, the ropes were the only thing her knife touched, and she rode away, leaving his fate to the desert, feeling as hollow as when she arrived.

ooooooooooOOOOOOOOOOoooooooooo

This may not be the way he thought his life would go, but as he fell into the plush chair with one servant rushing to hand him a glass of chilled wine while another knelt to remove his boots, he figured he couldn't complain. This level of pampering was unusual, even when in Ichigo's company, but today was a special occasion. Servants and slaves kept the house running and clean, kept food on the table, but having people take your boots off was plain silly.

"Well, Renji, what do you think of her?"

He snorted. His friend and prince did not break out in laughter, however, apparently expecting a reply.

"Pretty obvious, isn't it? She's beautiful. Half the people are in love with her already just 'cause of that sweet smile. The court, though . . . I hope there's more behind that innocent little girl look."

"Hmm. I'm almost certain there is. If not, it'll be like throwing a steak at starving wolves."

Good that Ichigo saw it, not that he'd expected any less. The man was never one to delude himself. Still, Renji had wondered if the last few days would change things. The relief of not being openly hunted, the security and power of being officially an Aizen, it had to alter one's worldview a bit. Not enough to blind the always wary prince, he was happy to know.

"She's so inexperienced. The Kenpachi taught her to be the wife of a chieftain, obedient, quiet, practically invisible. There's an advantage to it, though. She's like a blank slate, ready to take my lead."

"Which you used to make her pull Shutara's tail. Not a great way to keep the princess alive, you know."

"Ha! You should have seen it, Renji! You're right though, I know that bitch provoked Zaraki. I wonder if Orihime sees it, and what she'll do about it."

"You're testing her."

That grin was evil. He remembered the same kind of shit happening to him, the brat pushing him into conflicts or situations where he only had two ways out, tuck tail or tackle a fight he wasn't sure he could win. He never realized it until after it was all over, and each time he was tempted to deck the manipulative bastard or simply never trust him again. Then he would think about it, that evil grin waiting for him to figure out that each time Ichigo threw him into the fire he came out stronger, more self-assured, more respected.

Pitting his innocent young wife against the most powerful woman in Hueco Mundo? That was one way to see if she had any balls.

"You are still such a bastard."

"That's Your Royal Highness, Prince Bastard to you."

Snorting again, he watched the royal bastard sit on his royal ass and have his royal boots removed by his obsequious royal servants, sharing a glance of amusement. They had two hours before the ceremony while the guests enjoyed a meal, mingled, delivered their gifts, and sorted themselves into the throne room. He was just glad Ichigo didn't have to be there for it, because then he would have to be there, in the same room with his parents.

"You should get some rest. Still a long day to go, and a longer night."

He could tease, unlike that idiot Ikkaku. In fact, he might be the only one who could tease Ichigo and get away with it. He knew his friend appreciated him even more because of the earned familiarity. That's one thing what all those tests were for, to see if Renji had guts, self-respect, loyalty.

"Gods, I don't think I could sleep. The way she looks at me, fuck, Renji, it was all I could do not to throw her over my saddle and ride off into the desert with her like the old days. Watch me at dinner. Don't let me drink, I don't want to risk scaring her."

"Ooookay. Maybe I should just go now. Give you some private time to, ehem, cool down."

"Not likely. I'm perfectly capable of making it ten more hours for sex."

"Why don't you just go next door for a quickie, take the edge off?"

"A quickie with my pretty little virgin, also not likely."

" _What_?"

The brown eyes were full of laughter, staring at him in anticipation of a response. It had to be a joke. It was simply not possible that Ichigo hadn't screwed the kid senseless a dozen times by now. He saw that boy the first night, startlingly perfect and precious, making him rethink his distaste for male lovers. He saw that boy moaning, eyes of pure sin, spread out under Ichigo, heard the fire in that dulcet voice as it rang through the hallways.

"But you . . . he . . .. _Why_ , for fuck's sake?"

"Good question."

Clearly one the man wouldn't answer, face turning toward the window and expression growing distant. Mystifying, sometimes, the things his friend did, particularly when it came to fucking. The prince could have anyone, man or woman, any time he wanted. Well, maybe not _anyone_ , but close enough. He understood why Ichigo didn't have a horde of lovers; each one would be a risk and a reputation for taking lovers would open him up to even more plots and attempts on his life.

That week at The Crowned Serpent five years ago had been an eye opener. Nearly 50 whores of all types, every one vetted by the king's right-hand man, it should have been the perfect opportunity for the potential heir to cut loose. Renji had taken more in two nights than Ichigo did during the entire week. In fact, Renji was pretty sure he'd had every woman on the menu, though he lost track somewhere around day four. Clearly, his prince had very different tastes.

"You're a complete moron."

The detached look vanished, narrowed eyes and clenched jaw warning him that even he could go too far. Not that he was afraid of Ichigo. If he pissed off the prince, it would just result in a very satisfying fight with swords or fists, maybe a few days of recovery, and then all offense would be forgiven and forgotten. He was certain the he was the only one who could count on that mercy, as well, and he was proud of it.

"Excuse me?"

"You've got nearly everything in the world now. But just how often do you think a man has the chance to have two virgins in one day? Let alone ones that look like your pet and your princess."

He could count on his fingers the number of times he had managed to surprise his friend. Renji wasn't stupid, but he was pretty straightforward while Ichigo planned and schemed and thought in circles. To see the narrowed eyes widen, the clenched jaw nearly drop, those were rare sights indeed and he snickered as he stood and stretched.

"Well, I'm gonna go find some food. You enjoy your meal, you lucky bastard."

ooooooooooOOOOOOOOOOoooooooooo

Thirty minutes of practicing various nods and bows in front of a mirror with Izuru was all he could take. He sent the guard to join the other one outside his door, then he joined Hanataro at the desk to eat despite not being hungry. More like, his appetite was ruined by nervousness. It wasn't that he was afraid to be punished for making errors in front of the court or king, but that he wanted to make the right impression, for himself and his owner.

What did he care, anyway, he thought as he sat with a huff and took out his sudden anger on the loaf of bread with a serrated knife? He didn't owe his captors anything. Every one of the people gathering in the halls below was his enemy, as was his owner. He should embarrass the shit out of the orange-haired ass and laugh in the face of the mighty king of killers. He chuckled at himself as he let the knife clatter on the plate, letting the childish thoughts pass through and disappear. Even if he wasn't emotionally vested in the prince now, even if he didn't want to make the man proud and content, following through on such petty impulses would ruin everything.

Hanataro was eyeing him curiously, looking ridiculous with his cheeks puffed out full of food. He raised a brow and ate his bread, figuring it would settle his stomach a good deal more than the typically spicy meal laid out before him. The healer started to relax, started to smile, even if it was an uncertain little grin. He was about to tease when he heard the door open and the timid man swallowed the huge mouthful hard, looking over his shoulder. The healer scrambled to his feet, and he knew what he would see when he turned his head, though he couldn't believe it.

What was the prince doing here? His body told him that the answer really didn't matter to him, and the hunger in those rich honey eyes told him he needn't bother asking. Every time since he had come to grips with his desires, every time he saw the man was like a revelation. It took only one glance for him to feel as if the temperature suddenly climbed, along with his heart rate. He couldn't even say when he stood, mind locked on the approaching figure in close-fitting black pants, red jacket with black inner lining hanging open, bits of gold embroidery flashing.

"You may go, Hanataro."

Reverie broken for the moment, he caught the glance filled with sorrow and regret. It was his own fault; he had worked to get the healer to pity him, so now he'd have to put up with looks like that, with being seen as a victim. And he was, after all, a slave brought here against his will, drugged, chained, molested. It was infuriating, though he could now see a path to revenge clearing before him. That he could summon almost no outrage about the situation when his owner was present . . . that fact he would try to keep secret a little longer.

When the large hands took his waist and lifted, he didn't even hesitate to spring off the ground and wrap his arms and legs around the solid warmth. Lips were pressed together, the world spinning before the click of the door announced that they were alone. The soft collision of his back with the bed would have gone unnoticed were it not for the retreat of those lips and the gentle pressure of hands forcing his legs to let go. He didn't want to, but he laid back and watched as the powerful chest was revealed, muscles rippling as the jacket was removed. He wanted to just go with it, to cooperate, to fall into the bliss that would come with the return of those hands now shedding jewelry and setting it on the bedside table.

"Why are you here?"

Though he could not stop the question, his tone was quiet and even. He did not want his owner to think him argumentative, judgmental, difficult. He was those things with most people, but truly did not wish to be with this man, for so many reasons. The prince went completely still, a flash of what could be anger making him worry that he should not have spoken. But then his owner smiled, smirked really, a rather wicked expression that worried him twice as much. He nearly flinched when the larger man leaned over him again, staring into his eyes as long fingers started to undo his jacket.

"You mean, why would I come to you on my wedding day? You have met my sweet fiancé, pet. Tell me, do you find her pleasant to look at?"

"Of course, I do," he replied immediately. If it was a trap of sorts, it was a poor one, beneath his notice. "The lady is incomparably beautiful."

"Then, you can imagine the distress of spending the day so close to her, having her eyes and hands on me and being unable to truly touch," he held in his breath as he was lifted by a tug on his jacket, only to have the garment pushed off his shoulders, knuckles trailing slowly down his arms.

"Unable to kiss," the trapped breath escaped in a long moan as that smirking mouth went straight to his chest, tongue dancing across his left nipple before lips closed and withdrew.

"Unable to express my desires or explore hers," his hands grabbed at the broad shoulders as he was firmly groped through the white silk of his pants.

"I cannot expect a noble lady such as mine to endure the rough passion of my frustration. In short, I need relief from the temptation of such a beautiful woman. Where else would I go but to my pet?"

He quickly closed his eyes, though not in time to completely hide the shock and hurt. The implication was clear; the prince had sought him out to use him for sexual gratification, to relieve the need brought on by desiring someone else. The man was thinking of her while touching him. The jealousy he had denied reawakened along with the shame of being nothing but an object, the shame of feeling growing arousal despite this, of not being able to hate the feeling of the fingers massaging the growing bulge under tight cloth.

He wanted to claw the shoulders his trembling hands gripped tightly. He wanted to bite the lips pushing against his, wanted to deny the tongue he opened himself to so willingly. Whore. Slave. Words he was certain he could overcome just moments ago.

No, he would still overcome them. This should be no surprise, and no obstacle. If anything, it made the path before him easier. He could gain influence through his position as the prince's lover, even if _lover_ simply meant _whore_. And not being seen as a true lover would make it easier to use what power he could gather to destroy that wretched snake and leave this hellhole behind, with no love or loyalty to betray.

Accepting yet another wound to his pride and his too easily swayed heart, he opened his eyes as his hips were lifted, pants and undergarments pulled down with one swift step back of long legs. He met the searching eyes with what he hoped was no expression, though even if his owner saw the lingering pain it wouldn't matter to either of them. This was, in the end, what he was here for, a source of pleasure. Fortunate enough that his owner gave even more than was taken, Toshiro surely couldn't complain about that.

Nothing, really, had changed. He wanted the potential authority of a 'royal mistress.' He wanted to rise above the things that had happened without his consent and make those who stole his life pay dearly. He wanted the body standing before him. He wanted more and more of the bliss it gave him. All these things were within his reach, but only if he continued to do what he had to do, and, honestly, what he wanted to do.

By the time his owner had carefully set aside the fine suit, never breaking eye contact, he had recovered his composure and his desire. Raising himself, turning on his knees on the bed, he reached and pushed his hands between the ones working on the fastenings of black silk, fingers grasping fabric and pulling until the man stepped forward. Undoing the remaining buttons, he stopped trying to read the piercing gaze that now seemed amused and smug, instead admiring how being on his knees on the tall bed brought him almost level with the taller man, perfect for kissing. Yet he ducked down as his owner leaned toward him, ducked to push down.

Whether the source of lust was the undeniably lovely bride did not make any difference. It was his now. He would bring his owner the relief sought, and he took the half-erect cock in his hands with the same urgency shown when the prince had grabbed him. Only, he was denied immediately, one strong hand taking each of his wrists and separating his hands, taking away his prize.

"Let me . . ."

Cut off by the sudden kiss, his hands captured and pulled behind his own back as arms wrapped around him, he found himself pressed close. Lips were gentle despite the tight hold on his body, tongue playfully licking at his as he relaxed, leaning into the contact, feeling every inch skin to skin, feeling himself harden against the slight friction of skin sliding over flexing muscle.

Nothing had changed, not really. So, his owner came to him only to slake lust. Fair enough when he was moaning into that hot mouth, plotting in his hazy mind how to get the man to give him more this time, to give him everything.

ooooooooooOOOOOOOOOOoooooooooo

Which was more pleasing, the way his pet tried to take control, or the way the young man yielded completely? The heartbreak and humiliation that showed clear as day when he told the boy that he came only to use his pet for his own needs, or the resolve, anger, and lust that glowed in turquoise eyes when the fierce spirit rallied? The heartbreak, he thought, that was the real treasure he had uncovered. Just as Toshiro looked so devastated when he had lost his temper and then declared the boy a liar. It was not a lie, that wounded expression. It was honest, he was sure of it, the reaction instant and instantly hidden, not thrown at him like an accusation or a plea. His little pet cared.

Taking back control of the encounter was easy, and he leaned steadily forward, bending the willowy body back until his pet was down, arched over their entwined arms, thin legs bent with pretty feet under prettier ass. Toshiro didn't even seem uncomfortable with the contortions, the lithe body flexible and thrilling to look at as he pressed a knee into the mattress, pressed his bare thigh into the warmth and growing firmness.

He wasn't sure if he wanted the boy to fall in love with him but couldn't see the harm in it as long as the pretty thing wasn't going to get possessive. And it seemed like the smart young man knew that owning him was not an option, claiming any part of his time that was not willingly given was not an option. The flare of hurt and perhaps envy was already gone. If his pet could conquer such feelings and give in to the pleasure they could share, then he really did not care what other emotional attachments the boy harbored.

Feeling the squirming underneath, he released the trapped hands but did not release the eager mouth, following as the boy pushed away on his elbows. More writhing to unfold lean legs, a deep groan as the movement pushed Toshiro's erection up his thigh, tip hitting and scraping against the bend of his hip.

Some contortions of his own were required, his pet too short to make it easy to keep that pressure while sliding his lips down to the bruised neck, teeth only skimming gently, resisting the desire to bite due to livid black and purple. One hand held his weight, the other slid down the smooth back to the swell of buttocks, encouraging a repeat of the grinding motion that brought another noise of deep satisfaction.

"That's it, my pet. You are so lovely when you let go."

He did not whisper in the flushed ear his apologies for cruel words, and he never would. He hadn't lied, only told part of the truth, for the desires ignited by his bride were under his control until his thoughts were shifted to his pet. A wife, a queen was to be handled delicately, with great respect. Rutting with her like this was unthinkable, at least this early and possibly not ever. But this boy, this delectable false frailty hiding strength and fire, this glorious gift ignited an entirely different level of need. That was the truth he did not tell Toshiro in words, only in the heat the built so quickly, the rasping of his breath, the way he could not keep his own hips still.

Taking his words as permission, the thin arms wrapped around his neck, using him as leverage. The boy's right leg wrapped high around him, adding force to the sliding of the cock slickening his upper thigh, the change of angle bringing the nearly smooth testicles into rough contact with his skin just as the head of the grinding erection collided and bent at the crease of his body.

A high yelp and the weight of his pet dropped against his hand, the massive amount of stimulation in that one movement making the inexperienced youth shake. His chuckle made jewel eyes lock on him, surprisingly lucid after a dazed moment, and there was a pause as he stared into eyes that suddenly seemed too intelligent, too perceptive. Alarmed, he escaped the analytical gaze by reclaiming the tender mouth and stealing the panting breaths, his tongue rolling the smaller muscle and tickling until he was sure the boy was thinking of nothing else.

Sure enough, the piercing eyes had closed when he released swollen lips and whispered against them, hand pushing soft flesh upward.

"Again, darling. Do it again."

Obedient, needy, the boy's entire body tightened to thrust upward, hips rolling to recreate that full contact. His own arousal grew from the reactions, the shouts of nearly painful pleasure the boy could not contain, the feel of the increasingly aggressive motions. His neck was pulled harshly down, the leg around his waist loosened and tightened with bruising disregard as Toshiro used him, used him thoroughly for pleasure just as he had said he would use his pet.

He could not help but laugh at how the tables had turned without him noticing, and he had absolutely no desire to stop it. Sex and sensuality were a part of everyday life, and he had indulged in many truly decadent acts. But this, the shy, inhibited beauty who had only just begun to comprehend ecstasy now drowning in lust, the lewdest noises ringing out unrestrained as he watched, nearly motionless in his own world of bliss, it was erotic beyond imagining.

His own erection was mostly ignored, receiving some delightful friction and frequently being smashed painfully between his abdomen and the bony hip gyrating into him. It would get its turn and had plenty of experience with being denied quick release. Still, it was almost enough to make him cum when the arms and leg tightened even more, the struggling body beneath him starting to shake.

"Gods! Oh, fuck . . . Master, please . . . HAHH! I . . . can I cum? NNAAAH! Mas . . . pleeeease!"

Words that made him groan graced his ears. He had not taught his pet that. To beg for pleasure, to plead for forgiveness, yes. But he had always allowed orgasm without restraint. He lowered his weight and pulled the boy close.

"Cum, Toshiro," he spoke clearly, feeling the convulsion and the wet heat as the last sweet syllable of his pet's name left his lips.

It was a struggle not to use the boy as he had been used, but the reward was worth the effort, hearing the satisfied shout, feeling the immense relief and bliss with each erratic convulsion, watching the holy rapture on the angelic face as darkened eyes focused above on the mirrors he had forgotten before rolling back behind shuddering black lashes.

He kissed the reddened forehead, hot, quick bursts of breath against his neck, supporting the collapsing body as it sank into soft contentment. Then he pulled his pet with him as he turned, stretching out on his back with the heaving body boneless on top of him. He stared at the perfect image above, the pale skin and white hair against his tanned form, framed by forest green of the thick blanket. Between the view and the feel of the boy laying on top of him, on top of his aching length, he hummed in enjoyment of the strange wanting tranquility that always came to him when his partner was fully satisfied.

"That was lovely, my pet. Such a good boy."

A huff of breath on his chest said that the spent boy was more aware than expected, and he stroked white hair with one hand, rubbing soothing circles along the lower spine with the other. They were quiet for several minutes, apart from his slow, tuneless humming. Much sooner than anticipated, the white-crowned head was raised, face still flushed and exquisite.

Delicate hands came to rest firmly on each side of his face, small thumbs stroking his cheekbones. If there had still been a choice to back off, to leave, it was gone, ripped out of his mind by those fine, cool fingers. After all, he reasoned, the timing was perfect for once. Recently sated, his inexperienced pet may last a little longer, let him play properly before giving over to a second release.

His hands found their way down, clasping the small globes of flesh and pulling the boy a few inches up his body as he had the previous night, biting back a groan at the delightful rubbing on his cock. Toshiro met his lips eagerly, not shying away as the moment of tenderness gave way to a needier, deeper kiss, teeth clacking as he pushed forward to fill every space with his tongue.

The sweet mouth broke suddenly from his with a gasp, eyes going perfectly round and he knew exactly why, his kneading hands leading fingertips inexorably to explore the hidden entrance. Such temptation he had resisted, but with the boy's legs delightfully spread wide, the pert buttocks so yielding in his hands, it was inevitable. Some of his control returned with the mildly sadistic pleasure of seeing the shock in the pretty face, so red and gulping air from their aggressive kiss, poor thing too innocent to have caught the knack of breathing with his master's tongue down his throat.

"So soft, my pet, so tender. No one else has ever touched you this way, have they?" Licking the panting, swollen lips, he grinned into the barely focused gaze and circled one fingertip around wrinkled skin. "Have you never explored the pleasures of your own body, my pet? Beyond the crude tugging of your adorable cock. Do you even know what bliss is concealed here?"

"What are you . . .? No, of course I haven't!"

He chuckled at the shift from burgeoning outrage back to embarrassed pleasure as his pet squirmed forward, trying to escape his fingertips gliding over skin, muscle clenching against gentle pressure. Yet the boy gave himself away, making no attempt to change the inviting position with legs spread on either side of him, no attempt to truly deny him. His left hand continued to caress, letting the small body wiggle in confusion, the cock trapped tight against his stomach still soft from release.

Hot breath bathed his shoulder, his pet's fingers sliding into his hair as the pretty face was hidden from view, buried in the pillow with a muffled groan. His right hand slid lower, each fingertip pushing slightly at the one place they had been avoiding, resisting, and they moved on quickly to the velvet skin exposed between spread thighs, slick with the remnant of recent bliss.

It was the boy's mouth that drove out the last of his self-restraint. Surprised again, he nearly pulled away before indulging in the feel of Toshiro's lips and tongue, faint kisses and brief suckles on his shoulder, then to the base of his neck. He debated stopping the boy, the actions a bit too impertinent for a pet. Yet he couldn't deny that it pulled a deep moan from him before he could even decide that yes, this would be allowed, along with the faint tugging along his scalp.

No simple pet, this one, that had already been determined, each new line he set in his mind rapidly crossed and he could only smile in wonder at how this innocent upended all rules. But he had already allowed the boy to control nearly everything, enough of a reward for Toshiro's bravery.

Such a light weight took no effort to lift and push, his own body following before Toshiro's gasp had faded, kneeling like a supplicant between those velvet legs and bending low to worship, lips capturing blessed lips. Another rough kiss, pushing his small partner into the mattress as he took possession of that delectable mouth. Thin arms wrapped tight around his neck again, pulling him even closer, tasting of nothing but desire, no fear in the deep darkened blue-green barely peeking through heavy lashes. Here, in such a small and pretty package, he had found passion.

* * *

 **A/N : A 2 chapter IchiHitsu lemon? Yes, please. About freakin time.**


	24. Passion II

_Shivering with passion  
For the moment nothing counts  
Than feeling his real desire  
Taking my body as part of his  
Demanding responding his way  
Waves of pleasures splashing  
Into my very internal caves  
Nobody ever did it so right  
Till his soft open lips aroused mine _

~Morhardt Carmen Mencita Monoi Angel

* * *

"Oh, my sweet, lovely little darling."

The lips whispering such praise tried to draw away, and he tightened his hold, pulled himself closer to at least keep the moist, warm contact. Folly. Such folly, the fantasies of a naïve child mistaking need for want. Need for security and comfort twisted into an intense, aching want for affection, his mind seeing the trap and willingly falling into it, rushing toward the cliff and gleefully leaping off.

"You want more, don't you?"

He was perfectly aware that his head should shake in firm denial – _No, he did not want more_. His fool head nodded, just a tiny movement brushing his nose against his lover's, the slight tug of damp lips sticking, clinging as he moved. _Yes, he needed more_ , needed it all.

"So greedy, my Toshiro."

Oh, he loved the sound of his name on that silver tongue, and he tried once more to capture it, to suck it into his mouth and keep it as captive as he was. Denied by the stiff neck, the firm hand between them, motionless on his chest. He wanted to snap at his lover, to tell the man clearly that any greed was hardly his fault, planted and cultivated by the very one that teased him for his weaknesses. But all that came out was a pathetic whimper.

"Well, then, my pet, shall I teach you something new?"

The whimper became a moan in response to that question, his recently satisfied cock starting to make its own demands as he finally met the demands of his lips. The heady flavor of his lover's mouth, those lips that provoked him, that tongue that stoked the warmth of his want into an undeniable conflagration of need, finally his to taste. And wonder of wonders, his master allowed him to press his tongue inside, let him explore with only the slightest playful strokes to interrupt and enhance the experience as he devoured the heat . . . greedily.

Totally focused on sensation, he marveled at how much his small muscle could feel and discover, the slick yielding of cheeks, the smooth rippling of the palate, the sharp ridges of teeth with their subtle imperfections. Cracking his eyes open as he lightened the pressure on bruised lips, the better to move his head, to get even closer, he could clearly see the enjoyment in half-closed dark eyes. A quiet groan hummed along his tongue, vibrated against his lips, and he felt a surge of pride.

Suddenly, the hand on his chest was pushing again, just enough to draw his attention back to reality. He had to back off, though it was the last thing he wished to do. He was not the one in control here, never would be. One last lick, tip of tongue flitting along the roof of his lover's mouth, catching the straight ridge of teeth, parting reluctantly with a final taste of upper lip before withdrawing to slide along his own lips.

"Mmm, not bad, my pet. You're a fast learner. But now I wish to provide you with pleasure. Will you let me do this for you, let me rule you?"

This was the moment. Deny the request and he would still be taken, their future together would be as pet and master. He would be told what to do and how to do it, and he would obey because there was no other option for a slave. Accept, and maybe, just maybe they would move a step forward together. _Will you let me do this for you, let me rule you?_ He had a choice. Not a choice of what would happen to him, but a choice of how he would accept or fight his role. And his choice mattered, because he was more than a slave, more than a pet, more than a chained thing. He was sure of it, sure he had seen the truth in his master's eyes.

What was more, he knew his answer was not based on fear of the future. It was not based on a quest for security or personal gain. While he lay under this man who he had every right and reason to fear, to hate, to resist, all he wanted was to feel more of him, to know more of him, to be a reason for that stunning smile and to take everything this beautiful, powerful, intriguing man had to offer.

He smiled and twirled his fingers in fiery hair, then let his hands slide down, caressing strong shoulders, down the muscular arms, to rest quietly on the luxurious bed. That irresistible smile rewarded him, and his entire body hummed in anticipation, no longer fearing the intimacy his lover may ask of him. And oddly, it no longer felt like a threat to his pride or his independence to surrender. This was his new identity, his new life, and he would embrace it.

"I am yours, my master. I chose to be yours. I want to be yours."

As much fun as the passionate kisses had been, the slow and sweet kiss that followed was even better. Lazily, he only moved his lips as guided, returned caresses with his tongue gently, and simply let himself enjoy, eyes closing and body barely keeping still, needing to push up against warmth but resisting.

He was acutely aware of the shifting weight above, his lover never breaking contact even as he moved out from between Toshiro's legs, toward the edge of the bed, and his mind had already reached the answer. The bottle had remained untouched where the prince had set it on the nightstand, though Toshiro had considered hiding it or emptying it partly in anger and fear of what it promised, partly in denial of the temptation and longing the sight of it inspired. His eyes remained closed through the shifting of the mattress, the brush of bare skin against his legs.

A deep sigh helped calm his nerves as lips gripped and slid along his jaw, and he eagerly tilted his head to provide more skin for heated kisses, nips, and oh, yes, he did love the feeling of massaging suction even with the hint of pain from the damage that beast had caused. Between the marks already left all over his neck by the prince, and the burgeoning bruises from being nearly strangled, he would be a complete mess, hardly presentable for such an occasion as a royal wedding.

Yet, he could only smile at the thought of yet another symbol being left for the world to see, this one just above his shoulder, assured by harsh sucking that erased his grin with a drawn-out moan. It was already difficult to not reach, the desire to touch and mark his lover in return spurred by that slight aggression. That was never going to be allowed, he was sure of it, and he clutched at the bedding to keep his hands from making a serious mistake.

The sudden departure of the warmth on his throat followed by a sharp pain made his eyes finally open and his body jolt. He gasped, the teeth that had snapped at his right nipple replaced by soothing licks. The brown eyes were watching him closely as he looked down, startled and unnerved by the rapid changes, the small hurt inflicted.

Inexperienced he may be, but Toshiro was not stupid. Not to mention the knowledge he had picked up from some rather unconventional books during the days in the whorehouse. He made a guess, one he was fairly confident in, that his owner was engaged in a little experimentation. Now, with Toshiro a truly willing participant, the man was testing the waters, trying to see what was acceptable, what was enjoyable, what would make him squirm and beg, what would make him frightened or angry.

It was another opportunity, another choice being granted, and immediately he forced himself to stop analyzing and simply feel. He did not honestly know what to expect from his lover, or from himself, and he was just as eager to find out what he might enjoy. So, he closed his eyes and listened to the speed of his heart, felt the tingling of his skin where feather-light touches trailed up his hip, waist, ribs, and then focused on the way the momentary sting of teeth had made him more sensitive than ever to the slick pressure and the gentle teasing circles, the rush of cool air on heated skin when his lover blew lightly across his chest.

More mild kisses were returning to his shoulder and across his collar, no more than gentle, sensual contact and he started to relax rather than waiting for the next shock. The hand left his hip, rubbing irregular circles across his belly, smearing his own ejaculate into his skin, pressing lightly into the most undefended part of him. He'd never given it much thought, and though the touches were far from threatening, they made him quite aware how very soft, vulnerable, and small he was. How easily a shift in pressure could crush him, cause grave injury; how easily a small move could lead that hand lower, where such magnificent pleasure could be delivered.

The uncertainty, the feeling of being completely at this man's mercy, before he had hated it, feared it. Now it brought confused arousal, his body fighting with his mind about what he wanted, and he didn't even realize that the conflict made him shift his hips and his shoulders, wriggling in discomfort. His throat was tight, locking in what, a moan of pleasure, a curse in protest, a shriek of anxiety?

Expecting it did nothing at all to lessen the effect when that wonderful mouth moved to the other side quick as a snake, an even harsher bite, teeth clamping first on the small bud standing erect and waiting then gripping all the surrounding pebbled flesh while the hot tongue roughly flicked the abused peak. It was something close to a shriek that finally escaped when the hand spread wide and pressed down more firmly, holding him down when his body jumped in reaction, only his chest able to move, arching up, head tilting back to get himself closer, closer, inviting and insisting that the sensations continue.

Oh, how he wanted to grab at the orange locks, or the solid muscles of the prince's back, twisting cloth and feeling it rip, sound lost beneath his harsh breaths. He wasn't even aware of his ankles coming up, heels digging in just below buttocks to try to pull the large body to him. Set free of the conflict, the clamor of voices telling him to resist, or to give in but only so much, his thoughts were now an even bigger mess of desire and an almost frantic need beyond his understanding.

"Ma-master, please . . . gods, you . . . your . . . ahhnnn, fuck!"

One hand flew up. He bit into his own thumb harshly to stop the idiocy flowing out of his mouth. All of this, a complete breakdown of control, and it was nothing more than some petting and a couple of bites. He would never survive what he knew was coming. A gentle kiss on his chest and his lover moved above him.

"Easy, baby. Catch your breath, I'll help you."

The tang of blood made him open his teeth. He'd bitten too hard on his own hand, leaving imprints and broken skin between the lower knuckles of his right thumb. Staring at the tiny beads of ruby red distracted him from movement until the familiar tinkling of fine chains stole every ounce of his attention. His wide eyes watched, feeling every ounce of desire drain from his mind as it insisted on escape while his body simply refused to move.

"Now, don't look so wounded, pet. We've only just begun, and you have no idea what to do with yourself. Use that clever brain. Why would I suggest the chains, binding your hands much more tightly than before?"

He stared at the shining cuff in the big hands as his owner sat so casually on the edge of the bed, leaning over his already wrecked body. He stared at the blood on his thumb, the drool all down his wrist, then at the jagged tear in expensive blankets under the sore fingers that had twisted and torn in the frustration of wanting to grab and tear skin instead. He stared down the length of his sweating body to his flagging erection, knowing that it only seemed like forever since the intense orgasm that he had thought would be the end.

And then his eyes went to a much larger cock, firm but still under control, and how badly he wanted to just do this already, to have everything he could, give everything he had. His master was right, he had no clue what to do with himself. At this rate, he'd end up spending and passing out while clawing up the man who would then go to his wedding bed covered with welts and scratches, to an honorable and innocent woman who did not deserve to have her life scared out of her or her pretty dreams flawed so soon. Not acceptable, none of it.

He sighed and sucked on his wounded skin before holding his hand out. The orange brows arched high, lips twitching toward a grin while he scowled at the arrogant ass.

"What?" He snapped, even more pissed when the wide grin broke free and his cock twitched in response. "You're right and you know it. But I swear if you try to gag me I'll find a way to bite you anyway . . . _master_."

The prince's laughter was even worse than the grin, and he groaned, trying hard to find something not incredibly sexy about the man. The snapping of the cuff around his wrist helped, his mind latching onto the twinge of fear and hatred, disturbed that it was only a vague thought quickly drowned in renewed excitement. The other cuff came forward and he watched himself surrender his hand with amazed aplomb, not a bit of hesitation, and he growled at himself for his complete lack of fight even as he leaned into the playful kisses being rained down on his lips, nose, cheeks.

"No chance, my pet. I want to hear your pretty gasps and dark moans. I need to hear you curse and beg. That is how you command me, Toshiro."

He blinked, letting those words roll around in his head while the annoyingly cool and collected man stood and moved to fasten sparkling chains to metal rings set solidly in the wood frame of the bed. There was enough slack that his arms weren't pulled tight, just a little stretched up above his head, shoulder width apart. If he wanted, he could scoot closer to the headboard and bend his elbows. Just right to keep him from doing something stupid, and just unnerving enough to calm his raging libido.

"Are you starting to figure it out, pet?"

Two long fingers pushed his chin before he could say something rude and uncalled for again, pushing his head straight and then pointing up. Even now he could blush, but he made himself look since that was obviously what his owner wanted. With his hands stretched up his body looked long and lean, pale against green that was nearly black in the dim light. He relaxed, then stretched a little to watch muscle and bone make skin ripple in the sunlight, in the light shadow cast by his looming lover. And that drew his eyes to the far more enchanting reflection as the perfect form moved again, gently pushed his thighs apart again, settled low between his legs again.

"You are so fucking beautiful, darling Toshiro. Every inch of you is perfection."

He would have preened, settling for a purring hum as the soft skin of his right thigh was treated to a series of keen, quick nips, little stings that rapidly faded to tingling delight. An answering hum approved when he spread his legs wider, welcoming the teasing brush of lips across his tightened scrotum to work down the opposite side. This new roughness, from the aggressive kisses to the bites and pinches was surprisingly arousing, making him feel each following caress more strongly.

Obedient, he made no attempt to stop the sounds of enjoyment. The pleading whimper when attention stopped was, he hoped, a command, and he peeked down, whimpering again when he saw the way one hand glistened as the other lowered the glass bottle back to the bed.

His stomach clenched in renewed trepidation before lust partnered with logic. He knew what to expect, had studied it, considered it, accepted it. There was pain ahead and something new, just as promised. By the time he met intense honey eyes his own were mostly free of fear, full of need. No other touches or kisses interfered when slightly chilled fingertips barely touched where lips had recently teased, slowly increasing contact, slick against ticklish skin.

Head falling back to avoid erotic eyes and that damned tongue licking sinful lips, Toshiro starting chanting boring laws and city regulations in his head. How many sheep can graze on the lord's land without fees, what the maximum fine for cheating on grain weights was, how taxes are tallied from revenue on fair days versus standard market profits. Anything to keep from losing his mind, anything to bank the raging fire in his gut, curb the growing demand to thrust his hips seeking friction.

He was whining, and cursing, and the prince was slowly petting up and down that thin strip of skin that had never seemed so sensitive when he cleaned himself, nor when he explored with his own fingers a few times before just focusing on his dick when he needed relief. Up went his knees, feet pushing himself a little off the bed with legs spread wide, knowing full well just what he was advertising.

"Damn, Toshiro."

"What!" He practically screamed without realizing it. "Damn what? Damn you, you fucking tease, you damn devil, Fuck!"

He blocked out the moment of fear that his horrible words would cause anger, relieved by startled laughter. Desperately, he tried to ignore the now warm fingers gliding in slippery circles around the one place he really wanted and really dreaded them touching, instead trying to recollect the details of the trade he had completed just before this mess, a shit ton of timber for top quality stone from Lady Kasumioji. A tough negotiator, that one. A good trade months in the making, and enough stone for two new, wider bridges for improved trade routes. He gasped at the prodding of a fingertip, and tried frantically to recall whether the construction would have started yet, how far along the new bridges would need to be before the rains came.

His poor attempt to hold back was ruined and he shouted as, with no warning at all, the stiff erection he was vainly attempting to pretend he did not have was encased in heat and then sucked . . . hard. Yet his lover's much more effective distraction wasn't quite good enough for him not to notice that his heretofore unused entrance was no longer quite so empty.

"Fuck! Fuck! Gods damned . . . sneaky . . . AAAHHHHH! Sooooo good . . . oh, mas-AH!-ter . . . oh, god."

The involuntary thrusting of his hips was enough to make him forget almost anything, to turn the foul words into heavenly praise. Almost anything. He didn't forget the feeling of his entire backside cupped in one broad hand that helped push him up into the hot throat. He certainly did not forget the slim intrusion moving partly with him, letting him lift away only to sink back in, slick and not the least bit uncomfortable in his state of growing bliss.

The hot desert air was somehow freezing cold on his saliva coated skin, his now quite painfully hard flesh unceremoniously released to fall with a lewd smack against his lower stomach. His potential yelp turned to nothing but a frustrated grunt when the man nuzzled firmly into the crook of his thigh, drawing a deep breath with nose shoved into the fine hairs beside where sack met base of cock.

Was there nothing off limits? Nothing too shocking for this demon to do to him? And yet it made his hazy mind pant like a fucking dog, well, that and the interesting squirming of the finger now, he guessed, fully inserted within a place a finger should never be. And why was that, he couldn't help but wonder? It didn't feel bad. In fact, there was something quite intriguing, could be pleasant, though that was probably lust-filled delusion talking.

"Mmmm. You smell divine, pet."

Psychotic pervert weirdo sex-fiend. "Liar," was all that come out.

"Not at all, pet. Did you know that the body's scent changes with arousal and with temperature change?"

"Are you seriously . . . nnng, OH! What the fuck was that?"

"Hmm? This?"

The chains snapped tight and he might have bruised his lover's face when his thighs tried to slam together. His brain presented the answer – Chapter 12: Male Intercourse, Prostate Stimulation. It was nearly painful. Unlike the wonderfully new ways his lover managed to make his cock feel despite years of, well, _practice_ on his part, unlike the new delights of having his body thoroughly explored and manipulated, there was something very different about this. Inside, inescapable, something he could not touch or see himself, and seemingly connected directly to every nerve in his body, pure shocks of indescribable sensation running right up his spine and out to every part of his overstimulated skin.

"Stop! Please, please stop."

His voice trailed off weakly, unsure why he had even spoken. This was suddenly . . . frightening wasn't right, but the only thing he could think of to describe it. The idea of being helpless in his lover's hands was one thing, yet it was like he was at the complete mercy of something within himself. Something terrifying in its intensity, only imagined before and now made profoundly real. He did not know what he would do, what he would think, whether he would emerge from this unscathed or forever altered in some obscure way.

"No, I don't think so. Not after you insisted you were ready. Not after you tempted me so boldly."

The man moved around a bit, and there was still movement inside but no more of that glorious and terrible torture. Then the hand withdrew, only for a greater pressure to return, slightly cold, and he knew there were now two fingers where one had been. Last time, he had barely noticed. This time, it ached so perfectly, and he pushed up on the balls of his feet in an unwitting effort to escape even while his eyes clenched shut and he moaned encouragement.

"You were supposed to last a little longer, pet, after such an energetic start."

"Shut up!"

Chuckling against his skin as a tongue dipped into his shallow navel, his erection pressed delightfully between his skin and the man's vibrating throat. All the while the thicker invasion continued, in and out with slow movements, rubbing and parting slightly and he was able to feel every change, every crook of fingertips, and it was driving him slowly mad as he squirmed and yanked on the restraints.

Little nips were introduced on his bottom rib, moving slowly right, then messy kisses down his side that tickled, that weak stimulation lost amid everything else, until a sharp pain broke through the haze. He twisted and moaned, not able to move far with teeth clamped onto the bone at the top of his right hip. Why did this feel good? Why did the very thought of how hard the man's jaw was locking down make his swollen cock jump? He was probably bleeding. The untouched skin would bruise and break, not at all a concern as long, soothing licks wrapped all around the injury.

It was all completely different than the gentle, almost apologetic way his owner had treated him before, coaxing him into willingness with nothing but pleasure and teasing. No, this was pushing boundaries, exploring possibilities. It made him feel like a partner instead of a toy, and that made what might have been frightening seem more natural than the saccharine sweetness of gentle handling.

The way the prince let his leaking dick rub against his calf, his foot, whatever part of him was near, the way his novice body already knew just how close those two fingertips were to even more sensitive territory, he wasn't going to last once again. It was too much, too overwhelming, and he knew he was going to disappoint his owner by cumming alone if the man didn't hurry up.

"Shh, baby. Not yet."

It was as if his lover knew his body better than he did. And why not? The man was an arrogant sex god, capable of reducing an angry, equally arrogant aristocrat into a begging mess that willingly wore collars and chains in a matter of a few days. All action paused, except for easy, mild movement of two fingers providing less pleasure, pushing at his contracting muscles uncomfortably. He panted, heart racing and eyes locked with the imperious gaze only inches above him.

"That's better, isn't it, pet? How are your arms and wrists?" When all he did was blink in confusion, the brown eyes narrowed. How the hell did the man talk like that while his fingers . . . "You have to tell me, Toshiro, anytime your body needs a break. You push yourself hard, which I adore. It's okay to want more but you must take care of yourself for now."

"For now?"

"Mmhmm." A flex of fingers and his body jumped in reaction, startled after the bizarrely 'normal' conversation. "Until we build up your strength and stamina. Then you will be able to do as you wish."

The man nuzzled into his neck again as he looked up at his reflection, too red already to flush at such a risqué speech or such a lewd reflection but embarrassed nonetheless. The man talked about sex like fighting or riding, a physical challenge that required training and discipline to master. And practice. He smirked at himself in the mirror. Lots of practice.

"Now," their noses were touching as the prince smiled back at him, one quick movement and he had been caught. "Do you wish to continue this, my pet, or should I finish you off and let you rest?"

"What, no!" Words of need came unbidden, the constant chaos of thought and emotion coupled with physical desire breaking down the last of his control. "Master, please, you can't stop now. I can't . . . I want . . . nnnng!"

The hard press as two fingers withdrew and three entered, and his hips shoved up off the mattress again. Hurt, it hurt this time as the hand pressed forward quickly. Not terribly hurt, too sudden a stretch, an odd burn, just enough to make him try in vain to move away before being distracted by blood, his lower lip harshly bitten and released before he could react. He lapped at the tongue that came to tease his and then rubbed the roof of his lover's mouth, spreading hints of his own blood, swallowing the man's groan, the sound and the heat and the lack of air making him lightheaded.

Each moment he thought he had gotten used to it, each instant he started to feel good again, there was another change, the fingers delving deeper, spreading, or exiting altogether just to tease and push. What had happened to that mind-numbing pleasure? He shifted, trying to find a way to force that contact again, making his lover draw back with yet another laugh at his expense, not that he cared. At this point the man could do anything to him, anything at all.

He writhed again, gasping when he had some success, just a brush of delight that made his hips jerk. Another gasp as he realized how fucking incredible that felt, and he shoved his body down the bed, rolling his hips to try to get more friction. A deep groan from above and he focused his eyes. His lover, in control enough to lecture him moments ago, was staring down with mouth open and eyes half-closed, the sculpted body tense.

The wrenching of his arms made him wince, forgotten chains stopping his energetic attempt to reach for that fiery hair, that molten skin. Another blissful sound from the god above him and his feet were scrabbling to provide leverage as he violently jerked away from the now motionless hand only to shove himself back down with a satisfied moan, never once looking away from the expression of hunger and lust.

Twice more and his legs shook, head rolling back, every muscle tightening. Then he pushed down to find nothing, a startled whine turning into an angry growl as he raised his head and looked to find the hunger doubled, the prince watching him like a starving wolf eyeing felled prey, still alive and waiting helplessly to be devoured. He was throbbing, never having lasted so long, endured so much, his own dripping heat cooling on his stomach, and that look . . .. He nearly dislocated a shoulder trying to lunge forward and tackle the man.

"Gods, please! Do something!"

No laughter. No playful grin, but one sinister, feral, a curl of lip and baring of teeth that made him want to bite into the man, maul that sweat-shimmering neck and sink his teeth into the lines of muscles under dusky nipples.

"Should I release you, pet?"

 _Yes!_ The chance to touch, to grab, to latch on and force closer. Gods, how he wanted, needed.

"No . . . no, I can't."

A soft kiss, a quiet caress of tongues, and he licked at the warm lips as they drew back. He watched as his lover settled back between his spread thighs, heart stuttering as the bottle was retrieved, the left hand tipped a slow stream of oil directly onto the darkened, swollen head, as wanting and needing as his own. For him, that glorious, proud cock ached for him.

"I understand. So clever you are, so sweet. I'll make it up to you, baby. Are you scared?"

"What?"

His eyes snapped up to the infuriatingly calm expression as nothing, absolutely nothing continued to happen, leaving him too many empty seconds to think. He looked back down at the glistening, thick length held by a strong hand like a powerful animal barely restrained. His own body was so small, lying open and vulnerable, chained by his own traitorous will.

"If I say yes, will you stop?"

The quiet question was met with a mild smile.

"Yes, pet. I will take that sweet cock in my mouth and suck you dry, and we will be done for today."

It was the perfect answer, he thought. He was not scared. A bit worried, he couldn't help it, but only a little. And he wanted it even more knowing that his controlling lover would not punish him for backing down.

"No, master, I'm not scared in the least."

The brief time had let him catch his breath, though he still wondered if he would not orgasm immediately and embarrass the hell out of himself. Too many times the man had brought him to the edge, and he tried to concentrate on holding back once more as his right leg was lifted high, foot deliberately placed to push on the front of the strong shoulder. He pushed into the mattress with his left foot for balance, distracted by wondering just how practical this position would be, his legs already exhausted, though it did lift his backside which he knew would make things easier.

He realized that he was recalling instructions and illustrations in detail, cursing and blessing those horribly graphic books. Then his owner was leaning forward, his body being lifted farther, and all thought stopped with the warmth pressing against him. There was no pause, bronze body flexing and he winced, then pushed with both feet without thinking. It didn't help, the pressure increasing, and he yelped as a sharp pain accompanied the sudden shove.

"Stop fighting, baby. Remember how good it felt."

"How is this . . . my fault?"

He growled between clenched teeth, angry at the involuntary tears he could feel trickling hot down his cheeks. The bastard chuckled, though he was glad to see that the man was wincing, too, and panting, and gorgeous, and holding still when it had to be killing him.

"Think about it, pet. You have to relax, let me in."

Was it that simple? He was tense everywhere, trying to stop an orgasm that no longer threatened, the demand receding with the pain and uncertainty. He focused, feeling how he was indeed fighting without knowing it, trying to push the body away, clenching, trying to keep out the head of his lover's cock, finally, _finally inside him_.

With a couple of careful breaths, he let tension out with each exhale, consciously letting go. A sigh left him along with the pain, fading back into the ache he had enjoyed when it was long fingers pushing into him. It was not that different, more firm, more full as his lover also sighed and began to move again. His other leg was lifted, not as high, knee hooked over the elbow as an arm came forward and rested the man's weight closer to him.

Forgetting again, he groaned as he tugged on the chains in an effort to reach for the face so far away, so intently focused on him, groaned at the feeling of being penetrated, filled in a way that his imagination had completely failed to grasp.

"That's it, baby. So perfect, gods, you feel so perfect."

Good. That was very good. His owner was happy. Perhaps it was just the praise, the rush of mental pleasure that made the physical discomfort change. Perhaps it was the change in movement, the hard intrusion withdrawing and returning in a small, rhythmic pulse that felt . . . good. Odd, yes, but it felt good, even with the twinge of tight pain with each push.

A hand started massaging his hip, the one bitten earlier, a sharper sting along with the comforting rubbing in time with the in and out pulsing. Making himself relax again, fighting his body's apparent wish to tie itself in knots, he finally looked. Not all in, not even close, good gods this was barely half. Did the man intend to do only this? Was it enough? He didn't think he could take it if they didn't truly fuck, for then he'd have to try again, keep playing this game of a little more, a little more.

Deliberately, he let his head fall back, ignoring the stabbing in his shoulder as he pushed his hips up a little and moaned, dragging the sound out a little more than pleasure dictated. His master had told him that this was how he commanded, and it worked. Another pull back, and the next hard push tore a startled scream from him, his heart stuttering at the sudden pain that dwarfed all others.

The hand tightened on his hip and he heard harsh breath, felt all the returned tension and he knew he must be squeezing the life out of the cock buried inside him. That thought made him try to feel, and the moan was more genuine as the sensual heat filling him became the center of his attention. He could swear he felt a throbbing within, but didn't know if it was his own body contracting or the twitching of flesh stretching his own. It was so hot, so damned filthy and wonderful and he could not help but flex up and down to try to feel and define the difference between himself and the other.

"Nnng!" His eyes flew to the handsome face contorted in bliss or agony or both, that strangled grunt bringing a renewed surge of lust.

"Shiro-baby, shit, hold still."

He hissed in annoyance at the ridiculous nickname, the thrill it sent through already electrified nerves, and the unwelcome command. It didn't matter, his body moved on its own, wiggling more and reveling in the sliding inside against sore flesh, once again finding that the fading pain enhanced every experience, sensitizing and awakening. He felt raw all over, ready for a single touch to set him alight.

That touch came with a shift of weight above him, the hand leaving his hip, sliding around him, a strong arm wrapped around his lower back as his lover came closer, leaning down, contact of skin on his forgotten erection making him whine and tug again, arms tired from fighting to be free. He was so ready, time seeming to crawl second by infinite second until powerful hips moved back, every inch leaving him taking an eternity, petting his insides, strange and lovely.

When the inevitable thrust came, he probably shouted, screamed, cursed . . . something. He didn't know. His eyes were closed or blinded, his legs thrashed and settled somewhere high, he couldn't exactly feel them. All he knew for sure was that it hurt in the same way the aching pressure of the fingers hurt, the same way the sudden bite followed by soothing licks hurt, and he loved it.

His master was not gentle, did not waste any more time on teasing, hoisting his hips up to meet the next thrust, setting a rough rhythm that moved them both. He started to feel a rapid build in pleasure, the telltale chills over his skin contrasting with increasing heat within. Any semblance of control long lost, he could only welcome the dark waves of passion as he heard his name growled lowly, felt another shift, and that terrifying place within him that had been teased with every stroke was suddenly slammed with bruising force. Then, he knew he screamed, the sucking in of breath after the shriek loud and painful.

A complete change in tempo, his body jerked as that magnificent cock withdrew completely, and he barely had time to glare in outrage, focusing on the wild glint in dark eyes which he realized had never stopped watching his face. Then he was pulled again, arms and chains stretched to their limit as two bodies smacked together, his head slamming back once more, mouth open but not enough air to support another shout of ecstasy.

Four or four hundred more times, and he felt like he might just die from this, die and live on in torment and heat to die again. He found the strength to beg, what he thought were screams of 'please' barely audible. His weight was lowered or he fell off a cliff, who knew? Then that gland was hit hard again, and again, and the unbearable tightness within exploded with the sweetest, most exquisite rush of euphoria, ebbing and peaking anew when it didn't end, another stab and another keeping his overstimulated body as high as Heaven.

Just when he thought he was free of body, consciousness, life itself he heard an almost painful shout, felt a deep thrust and an odd, new pressure as his body was clutched tight and rocked a little lower, lower still, heavy heat pressing it down. Sensations he never would have believed possible lingered, making him feel as if every part of him was shivering, and he lost himself in a dark contentment he had never known, never suspected, and wanted it to never end.

ooooooooooOOOOOOOOOOoooooooooo

Unreal, completely unbelievable. He remembered his cautious excitement the night he first saw the shining jewel, and the dreams of what he could make of the rare gift left in his hands. As he held his weight just above the still trembling beauty, his spent cock buried in heat the continued to weakly contract, sending shocks through his blown nerves, he considered just how far off his plans and expectations had been.

Something within him was changing, an uncomfortable shifting deep in his heart, his soul, his subconscious, whatever name one could give it. He had known what to expect from domestic life as prince and heir, or so he had thought. He would take a wife, a fine woman to be treated tenderly and handled with the respect due a future queen. If he was fortunate, they would live amicably, and she would choose to share some of his burdens, care for his children as more than unproven pests, at least the ones from her own womb.

And in his idealized future, he would take a few mistresses to provide more heirs, sexual partners clearly subservient to his desire. One at least would be chosen to sate passions too strong for his noble wife. He had suspected that one would be male, free of the worries of pregnancy and with an appetite, a lust to inflame and then quench his own. The luck that had been his savior seemed to have delivered that perfect playmate to him early and unsought, and he accepted that gift with some skepticism.

Doubt was now gone. Toshiro was perfection, the awakened lust of the young man more than a match for him. Things he had planned to introduce slowly to be sure they were accepted willingly such as restraints, biting, Toshiro had accepted within days, offering up his virginity with trust and eagerness that he never would have thought possible even if the slave had been raised properly. And that streak of masochism . . . what luck. He had explored his own tastes thoroughly. Torturing someone, even if they wanted it, that didn't do it for him. But what they had just done, seeing the way his pet responded to well-timed pain, that suited him quite well.

Based on the wanton enjoyment shown by his little dragon, based on the sweet sounds and aggressive movements, it suited Toshiro just as perfectly. The boy was already surpassing expectations as a bed partner, as an intelligent and refined courtier, as a resourceful fighter that could not be easily taken from him.

"Baby, you are delightful. Perfectly marvelous, my pet." Soft kisses accompanied soft praise.

What he had not planned, not even cared to think of, was the affection that was obvious in his pet's eyes, the affection that survived the boy believing Ichigo's statement that he was only here to use his slave for sexual relief, and the reciprocation that he did not want to feel. It was not a requirement, could even be a serious liability. If, gods forbid, his budding affection for this intriguing boy turned into love, he would have a weakness greater than any of his enemies.

The barest hint of teal made him smile, though his little lover's eyes were glazed, unseeing. The thin chest heaved, parted lips sucking in air and letting little musical sighs escape. Such a screamer, who would have guessed? He was breathing hard, too, having been swept away in a much rougher and more decadent coupling than he had planned, dragged along by the lascivious minx. Gathering energy, he lifted his weight a bit, watching color disappear behind shivering black lashes, hearing the faint whimper as he regretfully pulled out of the divine warmth.

It took numbed fingers a few tries to work the delicate key into the tiny lock, freeing the right hand, massaging the reddened wrist as he kissed the warm palm, lowering the arm slowly out to the side before repeating the routine for the left. The lovely eyes were regaining their light, watching, a faint smile growing as his pet's breathing began to deepen.

He slipped his right arm under the lithe body, massaging the lower back in advance of the sore muscles he knew would plague the boy once the pleasure faded away. Carefully, he lowered his weight just enough to feel the rapid thumping of the mighty heart close to his own, faces, curved lips hovering an inch apart and he lost himself staring into deep oases, so bright they reflected his plain brown eyes as if they were made of molten gold. The legs that were spread to cradle his waist stirred, sliding down until flat, warm against his thighs. Delicate fingers brushed his left side, almost timidly, before settling again. Slowing breaths tickled his lips, and he drew in the air heated and damp.

"You okay, baby?"

Too early, he reminded himself for the thousandth time, dragging fingers slowly through the thick white hair as the boy nodded, then lifted the short distance to press barely open lips to his in a tender caress with no demands, the smile returning as the pretty face lowered again. Far too early to be giving up even a small piece of his hardened heart to anyone, let alone a foreigner, a slave with deep secrets, a gift from a manipulative snake. But affection, he couldn't deny that, a tender pang pulling him closer, making him wish to wrap the exhausted dragon tightly in his embrace and never let go.

Let go he must. Time was a valuable commodity, today even more so. He didn't feel the least bit ashamed of taking Toshiro barely an hour before his wedding; his pet was his kept lover to do with as he pleased and he had to admit Renji was a genius for suggesting having them both today. But he did regret that he must leave soon after taking the young man's virginity so wonderfully. He let out his own sigh and allowed his eyes to close for just a minute, enjoying the chill of cooling sweat and the warmth of the delicious body. There was no avoiding it, yet with the way his pet had accepted him after callous and degrading words, he doubted the boy would fuss about being left. He could at least care for his lover physically in the time he had.

"Let's get you cleaned up, pet."

"Hmm? You should go, master."

Ignoring the moment of surprise at the calm words, he lifted his weight and shifted smoothly, up and off the bed to stand at the side looking down. The boy was a beautiful mess, sweat and cum barely beginning to dry, so many bruises, including the new ones just red at the moment, myriad small breaks in supple skin on shoulders, chest, ribs, hips, thighs as if mauled and tasted by an animal. Even so, the hint of a smile lingered, lazy and genuine as the debauched beauty remained motionless, exposed.

"Come. To the bath, little dragon."

He leaned forward to scoop up his pet only to have small hands grab and weakly try to push away his. He should force the issue, grab the boy and dump him in the bathtub with a reprimand. Instead, he found himself pausing without protest, curious to see what the unpredictable young man would do. Lying naked and most vulnerable, the regal slave was a mystery even now, nervous as a lost fawn one moment, brave as a desert lion the next, awkward as a new colt, then graceful as a gazelle, shy as a blushing maid, then hot as a celebrated courtesan . . ..

"Really, master, you need to go. The ceremony is soon, right? I can take care of myself. I want to just rest a while longer."

Well, it was his pet's first full sexual experience. He would like to just lie back down and curl around the boy, share the afterglow and let his body drift in satisfaction. Just because he had to rush didn't mean he had to ruin that lingering bliss, he supposed. It was probably best if he did not stay and cuddle or bathe with his pet, anyway, no need to encourage the growing attachment on either side. He could not stop himself for leaning in for another gentle kiss, however, before moving to fetch his clothes while he spoke.

"You win, pet. But you must have Hanataro clean your shoulder again, and put salve on your wounds. And have him give you a massage, lower back and legs at least, before dinner. You're going to be sore either way, might as well make it a little easier on yourself."

There was that maid's blush again, whether from the words or from him walking about naked. That always earned him those rosy cheeks. Someday, the young man would get used it, and he would have to find another way to shock color onto the stern and adorable face. He resisted the urge to go back to the bed for at least one more kiss, resisted the urge to add more words of comfort and praise, feeling the bright eyes follow him until the door of the dark corridor closed behind him.


	25. Consequences

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 **Chapter 25**

 **Consequences**

 _A man does what he must – in spite of personal consequences, in spite of obstacles and dangers and pressures – and that is the basis of all human morality._

 _~ John F. Kennedy_

* * *

Staring at himself in the mirror above, he waited, breaths shallow and careful, teeth grinding, waited for quiet steps to fade and minutes more to be sure the prince would not suddenly return. Almost in slow motion, he watched his hand raised to his face, placed considerately over his lips to stifle the sound of the sob that he had been biting back, allowing himself to feel again.

He didn't regret it. Far from it. But he had underestimated the pain, tricked by the strange way it enhanced pleasure and letting the injuries pile up, encouraging them. Only now, bliss faded and everything, every inch of him was throbbing, stinging, aching, or cramping. It was far worse than the aftermath of the attack the night before, made worse perhaps by the recent wounds. Life had been nothing but building pain and confusion ever since he was taken away from home, and he sobbed again in longing for the comforts of security and family, the surety of knowing his place in the world.

It didn't help, the pained crying only adding new discomfort as his bruised throat constricted and his head started to hurt. He forced his eyes open, blinking away tears and looking at the stranger in the mirror again. It seemed ages ago, the journey in collar and chains when he had imagined the worst again and again, pictured himself abused by men and left broken. Never could he have predicted this, imagined this life or the unwinnable debate going on in his head at this moment. Yes, it hurt. It was awful. _It was wonderful_. His hand drifted down beyond the horror of his neck, the arm shaking a little, muscles exhausted and strained from pulling on chains.

Chest red, marks around both nipples, he'd had a chance to protest. He had not, had in fact pushed himself closer to teeth and tongue, demanding more. His fingers barely grazed the traumatized flesh and he shuddered. He was glad he had not fought the increasing aggression that had started there, for the cascade of building ecstasy had started there as well. Lower, his hand and eyes encountered the smaller, almost decorative marks left by nips on his ribs, matching adornments trailing down his inner thighs. Each little pinch had been a perfect embellishment of the sensations tearing through his body, and he wouldn't trade away a single one for a lessening of pain now. That larger mark on his hip, what an odd thing to do, biting down on the bone like a dog with a prize. That, at least, should have frightened him, yet it had been so fucking arousing at the time, so possessive, so intimate and raw.

Then, all of these external prices he was more than willing to pay. As for the unimaginable pain in his backside, that, at least, he had anticipated even if he had hoped it would not be quite this bad, and he was sure it would get worse. What did he expect, anyway, with such a small entrance being used by that beast of a cock? He remembered the careful entry, the patience of his lover working a little more in with each movement. Until he had pushed, broken the man's kind reserve and driven them both into a frenzy. And what a fine frenzy it had been, euphoria as far beyond expectations as was the pain.

Calm once again, he accepted everything, every pleasure, every pain, knowing it would be renewed again and again. He may become more resilient; every source said the first time was the most difficult. He tried, too, to accept the inescapable fact that he had enjoyed it, preferred it to the soft and gentle pleasures he had known. For now, he, too, had time working against him. He would not miss the wedding, would not let his owner know how weak he was. Carefully, he stretched legs and flexed his back, unable to hold back a few whimpers and more annoying tears as he tested and loosened muscles before rolling to the side and working his way to he edge of the bed.

Just as he was about to try pushing himself onto his feet, he heard the click of the lock. The male guard was leaning in, opening the door, blue eyes widening and then turning quickly away, blushing, mortified, offended by the sight of him. Of course, they had both heard _everything_. His yelling at their prince, the laughter in response, his wailing, shrieking, moaning . . . gods, what a life he had fallen into. Perhaps that was not offense he had seen. After all, if the guard found his body and his job repulsive, why the blush? More likely, the man was envious and aroused.

As if that thought wasn't irritating enough. Hanataro stood frozen in the doorway, face draining of all color and tears slowly filling shocked eyes. Great, just what he needed now when he was having a hard enough time not despising himself.

"Shut the door!"

It was meant to be an authoritative shout, but was more of an angry croak. He hadn't realized how hoarse he was, all that screaming he thought with a quiet huff of tired laughter. The guard came through for him, giving the healer a little shove to clear the way, not looking at him again as he pulled the door closed. Hanataro was going to be less than useless, the youth visibly shaking as if he was the one inching weight onto legs that might not hold. And yet the healer did rush forward as he wavered, and he accepted the help, arm going around the shoulders only slightly higher than his own, other hand staying on the bed for balance.

"Gods! Oh, gods, Toshiro, what . . . you should lie down. I'll get Unohana."

"No. The bath, Hanataro."

"What? No, you can't . . ."

"Help me to the bath or leave."

That angry croak was a little effective, the cringing worth it as the healer finally stepped forward.

"Oh, Toshiro, you're bleeding!"

Had the man just noticed? There was very little blood, in fact, most of the bites not that deep, just the shoulder and hip aggravated by movement. He was stumbling less by the time they made it to the bathroom, though every step made his back and ass throb anew.

"What happened to you?"

He paused in amazement, one hand grabbing the door frame as he turned and stared. Hanataro couldn't be that naïve, it simply wasn't possible, and the pale cheeks flushing red told him that the young man realized how ridiculous that question was. Still, he was regretting making Hanataro pity him in the first place, seeing the tears still falling, the shame of it outweighing the possible benefits.

"Nothing that doesn't happen to every whore," he snapped. "Now, is hot water possible?"

"What? Uh, yes, you just have to adjust this and water will come from the roof tanks."

Cold water pumped up from the shade below, hot water gravity fed from tanks exposed to the sun. The desert dwellers were clever, resourceful, determined. Bloodthirsty, inhumane brutes with absolutely no morals, but he couldn't help but admire the ingenuity as Hanataro turned knobs and he carefully climbed down into the sunken bath.

"You shouldn't . . . just let me bring Unohana, okay? I mean, I can help but there's so many . . . you're just so . . ."

"Hand me a washrag, and then go make sure my suit is presentable. The wedding is in an hour. I'm going to need some kind of pain medication. Strong enough to get me through the ceremony and the dinner, but not so strong that I can't stay alert."

A gasp and a sob from the healer, and he resented both, wincing as he got down on his knees. He figured he could clean himself up a bit this way with the drain open before soaking and getting properly clean.

"Toshiro, you can't . . ."

"Dammit, Hanataro! This is life. My life. Deal with it or get out and don't return."

He didn't bother to look as the healer fell silent, focusing on the simple movements required to scoop water from the steaming stream and bring it to his filthy skin. When a washrag appeared at the edge of his vision, he took it and continued, the cloth a great help as he slowly rinsed away sweat, blood, saliva, cum. Despite his harsh words, he was not wallowing in self-pity and disgust, well, not much, each twinge of revulsion quickly followed by memories of what had put him in this state.

He was glad the healer had left the room when he worked his way to his backside, having felt the damp leaking as he had walked, knowing it wasn't just oil. Humiliating. Still, some dark part of him made him bite back a moan at the feeling, wet and sore as his fingers assessed the damage before moving the soaked rag to wipe off the worst of it. His owner would have tended to him, he knew, would have cleaned and soothed him. It only made sense. He was a rare and valuable pet, a toy barely played with. Of course, his owner would want to keep him in good condition. But he had hidden the fact that he was in agony, as always trying not to be a burden, not to be a liability. This was the consequence.

Closing the drain, he watched the water pool, remaining on his knees as his stinging skin adjusted to the heat inch by inch. Perhaps too hot, but he couldn't bring himself to call for Hanataro to cool it down, and the valves seemed miles away. Besides, it was hardly the worst inconvenience he was dealing with. Once the water was deep enough to earn a hiss as it scorched his dick and stomach, he twisted to get his feet out from under him and sit, happy to be boiled pink and clean.

By the time Hanataro returned, he had relaxed, adjusted to the heat and letting it work on softening muscles that were trying to knot up, particularly in his back. His arms, too, were tense from all the pulling, legs from the effort of pushing himself closer and closer. No, he didn't regret it, and he'd do it all again, though not anytime soon, he hoped. Eyes closed, he heard the metal squeaking as the valve turned, rushing water becoming a trickle and then just a few plops breaking the silence. Once the water cooled a bit, he'd find the soap and the fragrance his master liked.

"Toshiro, I'm sorry. I want to help, I really do."

"Will you show me a safe way out of Las Noches, then?"

He hadn't quite forgiven the healer for making him feel ashamed, even if that was the furthest thing from the man's mind. The question was unkind, and meant to hurt despite the teasing tone. The quick and firm response made him regret it.

"Yes. As soon as I can find a way."

Mind frozen in its tracks, he stared at Hanataro's face, eyes averted but calm, sad, sincere. He tried to formulate a response, completely unsure whether to encourage the idea. Voices stopped him, the sound of someone yelling his name and then yelling some more in an increasingly angry tone. He recognized the voice, and almost tried to get up before every muscle in his body warned him not to.

"Hanataro, quickly, go tell them to let her in. Now, Hanataro!"

Thank all the gods, someone sensible.

oooooooooooOOOOOOOOOOoooooooooo

She gave the pretty guard a haughty glare as she sashayed through the door. It was the other one that had really argued with her while the woman only asked her to calm down in a high, adorable doll-like tone that only pissed her off more. Rangiku wasn't a modest woman, not by a long shot, and she was used to being the one that turned heads. Bad enough the new princess was so pretty, at least the girl was very different from her with eyes only for her fiancée, an air of innocence and shyness. This one, on the other hand, was gorgeous, ample assets barely covered and an aura of confidence and comfort with the astounding body, interesting features, fun hair . . . she hated the guard, though she really wanted to play with that hair. Maybe she should try layering like that, probably looked amazing in the desert wind. On the other hand, the woman was the one who stepped out of the way, even holding the door with a smile and a quiet "My lady" when the mousy little kid came to tell the guards to let her in. Okay, she liked the guard. They could be friends. Gods, just imagine the way jaws would drop if they walked into a room together!

The room was empty. Well-appointed, large, reeking of sex, and empty. Whistling low, she admire the bed, large enough for a 10 person orgy, okay, maybe 6 people. The whistle cut off when she saw the shackles hanging open from the headboard above messy bedding. She looked around, finding the little guy trying to be invisible behind her. He was nicely dressed, good, dark green linen with silver thread, just showy enough to mark him as more than an average palace servant. If it was fit correctly, that is, instead of just noticeably too short in arm and leg.

"Well? Where is he?"

"Um . . ."

"Rangiku? In here."

Brightening, she left the kid to hide or trail after her, making for the barely open door. She'd hoped to get free sooner, but Gin had kept her close until the king beckoned him away. Everyone knew Gin was influential, as close to a friend as the king had. Still, she had stared after him wide-eyed as the king leaned in to say something and the two walked away talking like bosom buddies. She hadn't promised she would wait just where he left her, hadn't even nodded in response to the command. Thin excuse if he came looking for her before she could get back to the throne room, but she'd hold to it.

"Oh, sweetie, it's so good to see . . . I'm going to kill that royal rat-bastard and hang his scrawny hide on my wall where I can spit on it every night, fucking swine."

A sardonic snort and faint grin made her pause. It then occurred to her that she had been staring at all the wounds, the pale body mottled with red, blue, purple, black and fully visible, naked in clear water. Toshiro hadn't taken invitations to the open baths she loved at the Serpent, had barely lowered the edge of his shirt for her to bandage his shoulder once. Now he seemed not to mind her keen gaze in the least as she took in more than the damage, appreciating the small but well-built frame, the white hair making him look clean shaved and slick except between his legs where the silvery hue just accented the pretty alabaster cock. He was definitely worthy of being a royal lover on the purely physical level, never mind the prejudice against short and light.

She took a step back, looking for the mouse and finding him hovering a few steps into the bedroom.

"You. Bring me a chair and then help your lord wash. Do you have any medicines, bandages? You can lay all that out when you're done washing. Come on now, don't dawdle. Good gods, Toshiro, how hot is that water? Are you going to the wedding? Probably should just stay here and rest. I can't avoid it, though, but I'll see you taken care of first."

As she talked, she ran some cool water to bring the bath to a more tolerable temperature, Sniffed a few bottles and smiled when she found vanilla and sakura, dumped a bit into the water, and settled into the chair the boy dragged in as if it was the heaviest thing he'd ever encountered. Toshiro, meanwhile, had leaned back with that mild frown which she knew was not at all disapproving, closing his eyes and seeming to relax.

"Hanataro is actually the healer's apprentice, Ran, he'll take care of that stuff."

"Really? Then are you supposed to have that bandage on in the water? Good thing he's just an apprentice."

She stood and then knelt at the edge, her shiny red nails peeling the damp tape as Toshiro leaned a bit to let her remove the bandage. She held back a grimace. At least the brand was healing now, but it should be a lot further along. Obviously, it was getting irritated frequently, slowing down the necessary scabbing. Her hand so close to the blackened neck brought her eyes back to the most obvious damage, the severe bruising that could only come from a serious attempt at strangulation. No simple bed-play, that, the harm deep enough to effect the usually smooth voice.

"An atrocity to deface such a work of art."

Toshiro flinched, just a bit, when her hand brushed the injuries.

"It isn't what you think, Ran. He didn't do it. I was attacked by some monster called the Kenpachi. I would have died if my master hadn't fought the brute off."

Hiding her surprise and curiosity, she focused on the practical as she went back to her chair. The little healer took her place, soft sponge in one hand, cake of soap in the other. At least he wasn't an attendant by training, or she'd have to complain about that, too. At least the boy was competent enough to wash a wounded shoulder without making Toshiro do more than hiss.

"You call him master. And the rest of it? Those are ligature marks. And don't tell me Kenpachi left love bites on your thighs and sucked your tits raw." They both ignored the little squeak from the blushing mouse. "How bad is it, Toshiro?"

"As bad as I wanted it to be, Ran. He didn't do anything I didn't want. He never has, I swear it."

"Is that why the healer had to be called the first morning? Is that why you have a healer as an attendant?"

"The healer came because of that fucking snake Ichimaru. Because I had a fever from being branded like livestock. Because I was drugged and starved and senseless. He didn't hurt me, though he could have. He didn't even fuck me until . . . until just now."

Another squeak, an awkward moment as the healer scrambled away, washing Toshiro's back evidently exhausting his abilities or more likely pushed too far outside his delicate sensibilities by two whores conversing.

"Go get the medication and bandages ready, then. Useless," she muttered under her breath, polite enough to wait until the kid was out the door, getting up and kneeling again to fetch the pitcher near the edge of the tub.

"Rangiku, don't. You'll ruin your dress. You look stunning, by the way, sorry for not saying so earlier."

"'Course I do."

She filled the pitcher with fresh water, sighing when the white head dunked under the water and Toshiro reached for a jar of cleansing soap, ruining her efforts. She sat the filled pitcher within his reach as he scrubbed his hair, he could at least use it to rinse. His arms moved jerkily, obviously hurting, and she eyed the red that would certainly add more bruises to his pale, abused body, thinking of the chains and handcuffs.

"Some people, a lot of people I'm guessing, enjoy their first time. Maybe that's another right reserved for the privileged, the ones with money or power. I was 13 when the landlord threatened to throw us out and have my father marked a slave to pay the debt, then suggested an alternative. Father took my mother and little brother outside, but he bought me a new doll after, and we lived a little better for a while with the rent paid for with my virginity. I did not enjoy my first time. But now, I may not always enjoy my clients but I always enjoy sex. It's the easiest pleasure to get when you're beautiful like us, and it doesn't take much to gain control of most men. The point is, you don't have to let it ruin things for you, sweetie. Sex is as varied as food, something for everyone's tastes. It isn't all pain."

The handsome, battered youth had a strange expression on his face as he rinsed his hair out and listened. He may think he meant it when he said he asked for this. Manipulative men, and women for that matter, were good at making the victim feel at fault; she'd seen it a thousand times. And they didn't get any more manipulative than the men surrounding them, the king, the prince, the whoremaster.

"I can teach you some things, sweetie. Tricks that can make him more gentle, and tricks that will definitely make him finish faster if he gets mean again. But don't you let him make you think this is okay."

"You're not hearing me, Ran."

She reached forward to help him up, his arms shaking as he pushed weight slowly onto his legs, every bruise and bite now on full display.

"I loved it. Every second. He gave me so many chances to back down, to choose what would happen, and then he did exactly what I asked. The only marks on me I don't want are the brand and this," startlingly white fingers against blackened neck, "and my master didn't put them there."

Fetching a towel and helping the tiny thing out of the bath hid the shock. Toshiro was not the first to like it rough; she knew the value of a bit of impact play. She just hadn't expected it from the noble forced into a life not far removed from whoring. He'd been so proper and polite, yet so easy to offend and quick to anger, she just couldn't picture him submitting to such treatment, let alone inviting it. But the pretty little aristocrat spoke with calm assurance, and he hadn't been here long enough to be broken so thoroughly that he could say and believe it with conviction if it was not true.

"Well. In that case, I have an entirely different set of tricks to tell you about. Come on, let's patch you up and make you presentable. You are going to the wedding, I presume?"

ooooooooooOOOOOOOOOOoooooooooo

"Seriously, Rangiku, stop. I don't need to hear about your . . . exploits."

He was adorable when he blushed, especially when trying to look dignified and angry. How dignified can you hope to look half dressed with a towel wrapped around your head? Not very. She giggled again, enjoying teasing but also determined to keep him distracted as he struggled to sit gingerly at the desk for the healer to work on his upper body.

"And then, try sticking your finger in his ass just when he's about to cum. Even the dominant ones like that. They may yell about it, but they can't deny the evidence. Some of the best orgasms I've ever seen were macho guys who screamed like little girls when I shoved my . . ."

"GAAH! Shut up! That fucking hurt!"

"Ooops. Big baby, crying about a scratch when obviously you're into pain. Hey, breathe Hana. Here, let me take that. I've had plenty of practice, unfortunately. Well, not that I mind little bite marks like those. Geez, the shoulder's almost as bad as the hip. Fucking cannibal. But hey, live and let fuck, I always say. So, anyway, I was thinking, have you given him a blow job yet?"

The white head fell with a thump against the desk, a nice accompaniment to the choking noises coming from the flustered healer. Honestly, it was like the virgin boys' club in here. Well, Toshiro wasn't a virgin anymore. Still kinda acted like one. She taped the bandage over the freshly bleeding wound, grabbing the numbing salve for the brand. It didn't look bad now that it was clean, anyway. Ugly thing, such a crude design. Brands could be pretty, if done right.

"I'll take that as a no. You know who you should talk to? Yumi! Even I took a few lessons from him. Boy knows how to please a cock, let me tell you, not that he's shabby at working a clit, either."

"Ran! Please."

"Hey, you should come to his farewell party! He'd love to see you, and you won't get another chance to talk shop with the best. He'd have been here today, but with his freedom date so close, he got away with telling Gin he wouldn't come. Some of his women were offering a fortune to have him as an escort for the wedding. Gods, I'm going to miss that stuck-up princess. But now I have you, so I guess it all works out."

"What are you . . . I can't just go, I'm a slave. And what farewell?"

"Huh? Sure you can. You're the favorite mistress of the prince; you can do just about anything. Everyone will be there! It's nothing grand like this, just a really fun party. Bring a present, that's a tradition, it should be something meaningful or something to help him get started. You can just give money, of course, but friends should give something more personal. Oh, you might not have anything, huh? Don't worry, we'll think of something."

"I don't understand, where's he going?"

"Contracts up. He's going wherever he wants to go, starting a new life. Actually, I know what he's planning, but he swore me to secrecy. You know about contracts, right?"

"Um, I heard something about citizen slaves."

"Exactly. Yumi and I are both citizens. I signed up for ten, needed more money and they usually offer longer terms for girls. Yumi signed for five years, but he negotiated another two. That was genius. His debt was long paid, so he's getting a huge payout for it. Top male in the city ever year but his first, he got Gin to agree to some good terms. Anyway, times up. He's almost free. The party's in two days, at sundown. I'll get you a real invite sent tomorrow."

The jacket looked good on him, though as she gave him a hug to button it she eyed the mess of his neck and shoulders. Flaunting lover's marks was good, a show of devotion or rebellion when married or owned, a proof of talent for a professional or mistress. It was the strangulation marks that would raise eyebrows, that and the sheer number of smaller bruises, the bites. Many would declare Toshiro the most skilled and valuable lover ever to grace a royal bed. It wouldn't do the prince's reputation any harm to be thought a brutal lover, either. But she could imagine Toshiro blowing up at anyone who commented on the bruises in a way he would think accusatory of his 'master.'

"I don't know, Ran."

"Aawww, you have to come, it would be such a great surprise. Yumi talks about you all the time, you really impressed him which just never happens. So, sweetie, you do know everyone is going to want you or want to be you when they see this, right?"

Her hands rested lightly on his shoulders, fingers brushing gently over purple and red. White brows knit together.

"Don't you lower your head, cutie. I've seen how you blush. Not over these. These are badges of honor to show off in Hueco Mundo. Each one tells the world that your prince is on your leash. Doesn't matter if it's true, only what they believe. You're going to have the court dying of envy. What a debut!

"Now, since you don't know the proper way to do anything, listen. Never take a gift straight from anyone's hand. Anything sent to you through servants is fine. Never promise anything, not even that you'll consider it, no matter how reasonable the request. Anyone gives you too much or asks for something against the family, tell your prince. Be polite or rude or both, ignore them or fawn on them, keep them guessing. Except the king. Never try to play with him. Don't flatter him, either. And don't let on if they offend you unless they're doing it to your face. The prince will hear any slander, he doesn't need you to defend him or his property."

She started brushing the thick, wild hair, wondering if there was any chance of getting it to lay a little neater. Maybe if it was longer, the weight would make it droop a bit. Or oil, yes, not too fragrant since everyone would be perfumed.

"I should wear a scarf or something. Oww!"

She whacked him on the head with the brush again. "What did I just tell you?"

"Yes, but it's Lady Orihime's day. I should just stay here like I'd planned. Stealing any of the attention from the bride, that's simply rude."

"You're a real piece of work. This is Las Noches. Sex is power, desire is a weapon you can use or a gift you can bestow, and no one will bat an eye if you flirt, or kiss, or suck your prince off right in front of the throne. Don't do that, though, now that I think about it. You're too refined, keep that unattainable aura for a bit. And for fuck's sake, stop thinking like a foreigner. The princess doesn't, I guarantee it. She won't be the least bit offended. Any honor you acquire, any respect, it adds to hers."

He looked completely baffled.

"Honestly, where are you from? If the court admires her prince's lover, it just means she runs a perfect household, keeps her man taken care of. If you're that good and he marries her, she must be much, much better to win a man who has such a prized mistress. As long as you aren't challenging her, that is. Just take my word, sweetie. Make a huge splash as the first mistress, get them all on their knees. She'll love you for it."

"Can you at least stop calling me 'mistress?' I am still a man, despite . . . that."

Blushing again, his voice trailed off, embarrassed. She chuckled; the modesty was misplaced, but it was cute. Probably wouldn't last long at the rate the kid was going.

"Get used to it, and don't argue. Sure, 'lover' may be slightly more masculine, but 'royal mistress' is an honored title. Own it. Now, let's see what we've got to work with."

The jewelry case was large, that was promising. She twisted the little key sticking out of the lock, the lid went up, and her jaw hit the floor.

"Oh, good gods!"

She drew back her trembling hand that reached in desperate want, and tore her eyes away to see a rather smug smirk. She didn't even blame him, the fortune in jewels making her as green as the emeralds with envy. The emeralds! Everyone knew that a single emerald was the most valuable item in Hueco Mundo, the mark of a member of the royal household. Those not born to it may rarely earn more than one, a sign of the highest favor. She stared, trying to count, losing track every time her eyes moved to a new item. There were other gems, and plain silver, but who cared?

His hands reached and took the fanciest piece by far, a collar of tight metal lace, a myriad delicate strands of silver, probably platinum, hanging in loops of various lengths, strung with diamonds and twelve teardrop emeralds. Twelve!

"Help me with the clasp."

A high squeak was her reply, fingers eager but nervous as she touched the magnificent collar, fastening it high and tight. Oh, it was beautiful! The fine silver choker was two inches wide, the loops of silver and gems hanging to make a glittering web, each loop free to swing and sparkle. It partly masked the severity of bruising, yet drew the eye to notice all of the marks.

"Toshiro . . . that . . . I've only seen anything close on the queens."

"Do you think I should just wear this? I was planning on these, too."

It was difficult to even look at the earrings, but she did. A pair of fat teardrop emeralds on silver clips to dangle below pale lobes. His hair would be such an excellent backdrop, and his eyes would shine green and bright.

"Is it too much? I saw the king's favorite. She wears a necklace with a single emerald pendant, earrings, and two hairpins. Five emeralds, the most I saw on anyone except the king and prince. She may see just the collar as an insult. Hell, the king might be offended."

She picked up a silver bracelet, not unlike the cuffs hanging from the headboard of the bed. Except for the band of crushed diamond and emerald, that is. Her final pick was a simple silver ring with a square emerald that would look huge on his small hand. Toshiro's introduction to the court of Las Noches would be a legend.

"This, too. And this. Not the king. His honor is more tightly bound to his heir than his mistress. Lady Shutara will be livid; she's a harpy. But the king likes it when she's pissed off. Besides, you're ranked far above the rest of us, and barely high enough for him to bother noticing. He can't get offended by you, it would hurt his pride."

"Really? How do you know these things?"

"Che. I'm the Queen of Whores, sweetie. Men love to talk about themselves, so I know everyone's secrets. Trust me, my lord."

ooooooooooOOOOOOOOOOoooooooooo

The Great Hall was quiet and cool compared to the parade, though a few hundred people whispering, cloth rustling, feet shuffling did not make silence. The slight irritation of the pomp was countered by the reverent bows, this proof of his victory adding to the contented humming of his ego. His goals were far from met, but he had fought, schemed, bled, and wept for each reward. A name, a crown, a lover, a wife, the rewards poured in along with the gold and gifts piling at his feet, along with the defeated heads of his enemies bowed low, along with the proud heads of his friends lifted high.

On his arm, the most beautiful woman in the room of beauties could not keep her eyes veiled, joy and awe of him, pride and nervousness, and timid heat that had been driving him to distraction with the desire to thoroughly violate tradition. There was so little point to this, the entire day wasted. She was shown off like a prized broodmare, every eye in the room judging her strengths and weaknesses, her worth as a queen and as a breeder of royalty. Every mind here entertained the thought of their consummation, and he amused himself slightly by imagining what each of them was picturing instead of allowing himself to get angry at his inability to shield her from their leers. No doubt, the vast majority of them were insanely jealous.

This was his wife and future queen, not a mistress. There would be no rough handling. There would be no teasing build-up as with his pet, no quick passion that might frighten the carefully shielded purity. Her virginity was the one small price for her crown and it must be paid tonight. And it must be done properly, not in the haze of lust he could easily fall into when she looked at him like that again and again throughout the parade and now as they walked arm in arm toward the throne. And that brought him again to the irritation that they would endure more hours of public display when he should be wooing the poor girl who had only seen him for the first time yesterday and had no choice in any of this.

It wasn't like he really gave a shit about what people chose and what was forced on them; that was the way the world worked for him and everyone. His will and his path to power and freedom were all that mattered, and she had a key part to play whether she cared to or not. Yet he liked the young woman on his arm, found her innocence refreshing even while it worried him. More importantly, she seemed genuine, not like she was in this for personal gain. It wasn't like it cost him anything to show a little consideration in return.

Thank the fates for his pet. Ichigo wasn't a weak-willed man dependent on sexual gratification. Compared to most, he was practically celibate. Yet had he not found his unexpected gift waiting for him earlier, had he not distracted himself thoroughly with decadent pleasure culminating in unbridled passion, getting through the formalities of the next several hours would have been Hell.

A slight squeeze of her hand in his and a nod of his head toward the thick lines of noble spectators reminded her to look away from him at least a few times. The crowd expected this silliness, taking a glance, a smile, a nod as favor. At least the stupid, vain ones did, when really just the fact that he did not kill them was compliment enough. His eyes sought out those who deserved recognition, allies and enemies. Of course, those of the greatest importance would be nearer the king, but many of his supporters were not that high in the social order. Yet.

His eyes found several of them, gracing some with a nod, including the elusive Nnoitra. For some reason the man was sporting a toothy smile and had gestured with his eyes toward the girl being pushed into an awkward curtsy by his hand on her shoulder. Scrawny, as small as his little pet, hands clenched into fists and grimacing at the floor, the girl looked seriously out of place despite the finery she wore. Did the whoremaster hear of his new pet and think to present a similar gift? He would have laughed at the conclusion that he had a 'type,' and that his preference was for tiny lovers, but this may be a good opening to meet the secretive man in a nice private place where he could behead that scarecrow without much fuss, tie a ribbon around his head, and deliver it to Gin. A faint lessening of his scowl, a barely noticeable raising of his brows as he looked at the girl and back at Nnoitra made that creepy grin widen before he moved on, the seemingly endless line rippling, heads bowing and raising as they passed, moving at a slow, dignified pace toward the throne.

Impeccable discipline over his reactions kept his stride even and his face still when he spotted white and blue silks, white and blue-green eyes. He had not expected his pet to be present but was glad to see that Toshiro had been given a place of high honor near the throne, the glittering web of emeralds demanding it. He held back a grin when he noticed emeralds hanging from ears, a bracelet with small emerald chips mixed with diamonds, a ring with yet another flash of green. He did not look at the king's mistresses on the opposite side of the aisle, but he could imagine the sour expressions of envy. Clever pet.

Graceful, practiced, a bow perfect in form but much deeper than required, bruised neck bent until the nape was fully exposed as one of low rank would bend to the king, much lower than a favored mistress to a prince. Nearby royal advisers, lords, and mistresses caught the gesture, which could not be taken as a faux pas after the young man had been standing witness to so many others making their gestures of respect.

Clever, clever pet, wearing so much royal favor and then scraping the ground in a show of more than dutiful homage. Toshiro had just shouted his worth and allegiance in the same breath, and Ichigo could not have been more pleased.

A second squeeze of his hand to alert his bride, and he stepped away from the straight path with her arm not wavering atop his as she followed. He listened with glee to the barely hushed exclamations all around, the others not bowing as deep able to stare in astonishment as he reached down, fingers brushing through soft hair to seek the rounded cheek, pressing under the chin to lift his pet's pretty face and keep lifting until the young man was the only one near who stood upright.

Bright eyes met his, glittering with mischief, then slid to the side with a wide and seemingly joyful smile for the bride. He searched, but could find no deceit, no resentment or scheming as he would be certain to see in the eyes of any of his father's mistresses when they simpered at one another. He looked at the woman who would be his wife, hopefully his partner, and saw another genuine smile, no hint of jealousy or spite. Once again, he praised the luck that had graced his life.

The moment was stolen; there would be time for words later. He had already broken etiquette, not that he cared. Pausing to acknowledge Toshiro was a breach of protocol that served a purpose, and he did it deliberately. The ridiculous formalities that had been invented and reinvented over the centuries were borrowed from other courts to make the crown of Hueco Mundo seem more stable and majestic. Time was, the wedding of a chief would involve a few duels to the death and a very public deflowering of the bride. The lords of the desert were barbarians who had traded hides for silks, tents for palaces, nothing more.

Turning back, he saw the amazed amusement in Renji's eyes, next to the watching smirk and hidden eyes of the king's right hand, the man who had given him his pet only a few days ago. His eyes passed over the countenance that remained smug even when tilted down in deference, and he knew the adviser would count what had just happened as a major victory. He agreed, in fact. Gin had found an incomparable treasure and was justified in expecting more than just appreciation for delivering such a priceless gift. Hopefully, that debt would be paid at least in part quite soon.

Finally, it was his turn to not only bow but kneel to the one man who still had more power than he. His father was alone on the raised dais, no adviser, mistress, or wife shared the honor at formal occasions. He did not ignore the deep growling in his mind when the king ran salacious eyes over his princess. The man was a lecher, a selective one that preferred young, innocent, well-bred girls and didn't hesitate in taking what he believed was his due as lord and master of the desert. Yet he was not unduly concerned. The king had enough bodies for his bed and would not damage the stability of the monarchy by touching his own heir's wife, he was certain.

There was no hint of emotion behind the kind-looking smile, and no hint of the threat he wanted to shout at his father in his own prideful expression as he looked up at the king. The unreadable dark eyes shifted up to the crowd as the thankfully short speech began. He had always been grateful for the long dead queen who had waged a two-year war against the priesthood. Las Noches harbored a dozen and more religious sects, each intent on influencing the crown. The queen had killed nearly every priest and zealot down to the lowest acolyte to free the crown. Now the priests who would have loved to spout their authority with long-winded speeches and claim the right to bestow the crown with the favor of whatever deities paid their bills stood silent in the back of the throne room, the gods banished from on high.

He only half listened to the words on duty and family, hypocrisy dressed in ceremonial splendor. Not that marriage was a sham in Hueco Mundo; most husbands and wives were fiercely loyal even if monogamy wasn't common or expected. But family? Certainly, those children strong enough to not be thrown away would swear by their family name. It was the rest of them that made him want to roll his eyes, the ones left in the desert, the ones sold into slavery or treated like servants in their own houses, the ones forced to kill their siblings for the favor of their parents so that they could kneel at the feet of their fathers.

His smile was full of conviction and satisfaction as he took his father's blood-soaked hand in his own, standing as the king symbolically raised him to his feet. He turned to his bride, smiling as soft, white hands alighted like doves to be captured in his own palms forever stained with murderous deeds, lifting her to stand with him, for now a step below the throne. He took the delicate crown of gold and emerald from his father, looking into those adoring eyes, the shade of rich earth in sunlight, warm and welcoming with the promise of life.

Perhaps it was the emotionally charged atmosphere, the romance of the moment. Perhaps it was a true sentiment, one that would undoubtedly cause a vulnerability in his armor. Whatever the reason, he made his own answering promise in his heart as he gently, firmly placed the circlet, fingers lingering to brush hair brighter than the gems. He swore to himself that she would not know the pain his own mother had endured as she watched her only son fight and kill for the right to live. If she was loyal, he would repay her with honor and protect her children from the trial by fire, eliminate fratricide and sororicide as a means of refining and proving the royal line.

It would upend centuries of tradition and make his entire family targets of those who believed them weak for not spilling one another's blood. But he would make sure he was king by the time his first children were old enough to face such challenges, the rules his and his alone to enforce or to break. And they would not be weak; together they would face the consequences of his actions. They would be a pride of lions, fiercely bonded to one another, invincible, tearing apart any who dared challenge their rule.

* * *

 **A/N**

Hi, **DenIchi**! You're like the only one who has reviewed the last couple chapters. Not that I'm complaining - sure as hell ain't no requirement to review stuff, and I'm guilty of reading tons and not leaving reviews (bad, bad H'ekwos!), and the story has a handful of followers so that makes me happy. Anyway, you think I rushed the relationship? I kinda think I did, but it was driving me up a wall, another simple idea turning into a 25 and counting chapter epic. I just had to do it. Now I drag my feet as I add the details to my first ever heterosexual scenes (yep, plural) due in a chapter or two . . . yikes. Wish me luck!


	26. The Masks We Wear

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 **Chapter 26**

 **The Masks We Wear**

 _Men judge generally more by the eye than by the hand, for everyone can see and few can feel.  
Every one sees what you appear to be, few really know what you are.  
~Niccolo Machiavelli_

* * *

The open desert was a peaceful place, growing more still as the temperature and sun rose. Horses occasionally snorted and shuffled for space in the shade of the one cloth strung between high poles, someone turned over in their sleep, another snored, the near sentry hummed a little. One gets used to the common noises, automatically filtering and judging which sounds are safe and which warrant waking. It wasn't the low talking that made his eyes open, but the tone of one voice, high, panicked, weepy, most definitely not the kind of voice typical and acceptable while the troop was resting.

It was quiet, the voice, hoarse and muffled by the effort to push air from dry lungs through raw throat. Sleep retreated quickly, his mind connecting the tortured voice to the desert castaway behind him, the second whispering voice Starrk's wild child. The girl barely slept and had been attached to him like a shadow since he'd been given the task of keeping the little bird alive, so it didn't shock him to hear her messing with the captive.

"Shh. It's gonna be alright. Here, a little more water."

Lilynette was a survivor, she wouldn't give too much water and make the little thing sick. So, he waited just to see what might happen next. That, and he was sincerely hoping they would shut up so he could sleep. He'd woken twice to water the tiny, dried out thing. He was tired, and there were still a couple of hours before time to break camp, going by the shadows.

". . . help Shiro . . . have to get . . . Las . . ."

"Don't be stupid. You are rescuing anyone. You can't even sit up. Now drink this before I force it down your throat."

He held back a snort at the insulting tone. There were no gentle nursemaids to be found in their squad. So, the sack of bones thought she was going to rescue someone named Shiro in Las Noches? Damned unlikely, whoever it was and whatever the circumstances. A weak, sputtering cough that sounded painful convinced him to get up. Worse than the pathetic thing dying on him would be him letting Lilynette kill the one he was supposed to keep alive. Just how would he explain that to Starrk?

With a deep sigh he got to his feet, turning to see the brat crouched over his little bird staring intently, trying to tip a cup into weakly clenched lips. Maybe the scrawny coyote pup didn't have the survival sense he thought.

"Leave off, Lil. You're gonna kill it, you gotta give real small sips."

The push against the slight shoulder only looked rough, and it earned him a snap of teeth far too close to his hand. A faint whimper drew his attention to the unfortunately alive thing weakly struggling to move away from the aggression. What a fucking pain. He reached for the covered bowl by the pile of blankets and grabbed the waterskin from a distracted Lilynette while she tried to poke her nose in the bowl. Watering down the broth that had dried into something pasty and very unappetizing, he stirred until it was thin. All the while brown and bloodshot eyes watched his face, not that it stopped him from snarling in annoyance. Its eyelids were burnt as badly as the rest of it, bright red rims dotted with dried blood that seeped to the surface again when wiped away, dark and bright blotching of the skin. Gods, it hurt just to look at the dried-up carcass.

"This is Grimm." The menace was leaning over, making the thing scramble again to get away with no results at all. "Don't worry, he looks mean . . . well, he is mean, but he's taking care of you. Starrk made him. He's a big softie inside, anyway, you don't have to be afraid. No, really, this one time we found a sandcat with its paw in a trap, and Grimm, he carried it around like a baby for a week even when it . . ."

"Lilynette! Shut yer trap and go get the salve from my saddlebags. Refill this while you're at it."

That would only buy a minute of peace, the camp too quiet to hope that the kid would get distracted. He knelt down, knees on the edge of the blanket pile, and watched as it gave up trying to move, too exhausted to do much more than gasp and try to keep eyes on him. Soothing it may not be, but his voice dropped quiet and low, the tone he would use with a panicked animal that didn't care what you said as much as how you said it.

"Stop that. You need to save your energy. No one here is going to hurt you, alright? Now, you don't have to do anything except swallow. This is just broth, just water and meat, no medicine or anything strange, see?"

He took a swallow himself, messily so it could see the moisture on his lips. By the time Lilynette barged back into the shade of the lean-to, he had managed to get several small mouthfuls into the starved and dehydrated body, despite the rasping coughs of the tortured throat. Once all of it was gone, he set the bowl aside and took up the jar and a soft piece of cotton from a shirt he had shredded to have rags.

It was tired, and every stroke of the medicated cloth brought a small whimper. It hadn't been entirely foolish; he had seen dead travelers that had left a trail of clothing, sacrificing their only protection thinking they could escape the heat. This one had at least kept itself clothed, and the skin where covered was terribly dry but not burnt through and cracked. It was the face, hands, wrists, the simple solution of tearing strips of cloth to wind around all skin apparently too advanced a concept for anyone stupid enough to get stranded in the worst part of the desert in the first place.

"Pleee . . . I have to . . . go."

He winced when the effort to speak made the chapped lips bleed again. Setting aside the salve, he dipped another piece of his former shirt into the shallow bowl of water and wiped off the sluggish blood. Broken little bird should sleep, but he didn't have the heart to knock it out. He'd listen to it if that made it feel a little better. These might be its last words, after all. Everyone deserves to have a moment of false hope at the end.

"To Las Noches, yeah, I heard. Don't worry your empty little head, you'll end up there if you don't die. You gotta name?"

"Ro . . . Tosh . . . shiro."

"Eh? Toshiro? That your name?"

"No, that's who she's looking for. Don't you listen?"

"Butt out, fuckin' pest."

"I . . . Momo . . . can you . . . my . . ." Husband? Was that what it said?

"Grimmjow"

He jumped again, hearing Lilynette snickering. He was distracted, is all, Starrk wasn't sneaky enough to surprise him. Damn them both, anyway.

"What have you learned from our stray?"

"Not much. It's a girl, called Momo, looking for her husband called Toshiro in Las Noches. I think. It can't talk well."

"Toshiro . . ."

Steely eyes stared at the squirming little bird, not a hint of compassion or interest. No surprise there. He'd been a little shocked the Coyote decided not to just leave the thing to die in the first place. That's what he'd have done. Hell, he still would. Or put it out of its misery; a desert death wasn't an easy one.

"Pack up. You've been summoned by the king, he wants you as soon as possible."

"What for?"

A flat stare.

"What about that?"

"Take it with you. Give her to the king's healer. If she dies along the way, you'll answer for it."

Shit. Do this, Grimmjow, do that, Grimmjow, don't disappoint me, Grimmjow. He was fucking sick of doing as told. They all came to him, relied on his strength. He should be the one giving orders. He should be a fucking king.

ooooooooooOOOOOOOOOOoooooooooo

"He's an insufferable little brat! He actually gave me a list of chores, said I needed to find people to do them or do them myself and then he just turned his back, ignored me."

"Well, that is a normal expectation, Kiyone. Your job would be to arrange for the mistress' comfort, down to mopping the floor if that's what she . . . he wants. Be glad the prince allowed the use of regular palace servants or you would end up doing all of it yourself."

"It's just not fair! Can't I wait until he gets a real mistress? Toshiro's just . . . just . . . did you know he took Hanataro with him to the wedding? Hanataro! I even had to pick out clothes. Gods, if he makes me serve that lout, I'll . . ."

A hand was suddenly hard over her mouth, her sister's arm pulling her close as she struggled.

"Hold your tongue for once in your life. Never, _never_ threaten a member of the royal house, even if you don't really mean it."

She pushed and squirmed free, turning to yell at her sister. But she knew Isane was right. Isane was always right. Kiyone didn't like being reminded, but she knew how lucky she was. Their family was nobility but not powerful enough, rich enough, or old enough for a man of quality to marry a spare daughter who was short, slight, not likely to produce strong children. Soon Kiyone would be 15, and she knew her parents would not let the her claim the Kotetsu name. She would be adrift, no choice but to make her own way in an extremely hostile world. The very thought had her waking in the middle of the night, screaming at the nightmare that would become her life.

"I wasn't going to."

"Yes, you were. Don't forget what you owe the prince, little sister. And if you want a 'real' mistress, I'll send you to Lady Shutara. You'll be begging to serve Lord Toshiro before sunset."

The pout continued, but with a more resigned air. Isane thought she didn't know how her quiet sister had buried her pride to plead with every one of the king's mistresses, even that nasty bitch Shutara, how they had rejected her, laughed at her, took their petty revenge against the former queen's lady. Isane had tried the healer, the librarian, the cook, the master of horse, all had no need for another apprentice, especially a tiny girl with no skills beyond what any youth of a decent house would have. Kiyone could ride, fight with a variety of weapons, hunt, read and write, but one could find a hundred slaves with those abilities without trying.

Then the king's favorite bastard had achieved the impossible, becoming heir. What she had seen and heard was not encouraging, the young man as secretive and manipulative as his father, with a reputation for killing first and asking questions after. She didn't know what her sister had done, what horrible humiliations or tortures the too kind woman had endured. She only knew that she was saved. A position in the prince's household, positions for them both, and it no longer mattered if her parents did not accept her.

"You don't have to remind me, Isane."

"Apparently, I do. And if your lord being a bit bossy is the worst you have to put up with, I don't want to hear another whisper of complaint from you. Now, I must prepare the princess's room, and you should be waiting to help Lord Toshiro between the wedding and the dinner. It doesn't matter what he said, you be there, have everything clean and ready so he doesn't have anything to worry about. Learn what he needs, what he wants, and provide it before he asks. That's how you succeed for now."

"Yes, sis."

It wasn't fair. If she was as tall as her sister, then she would be at the wedding, surveying her various suitors and flaunting her power as a desired noble wife. Instead, she would be preparing yet another bath just in case his high-and-mightiness deigned to indulge. He was even shorter than she was, skinnier, paler, so why was he dressed in silks and emeralds? A slave, for god's sake, a tiny male slave!

Still fuming, she stormed into the lavish bedroom, growling when she saw the bed was rumpled, the desk a mess, used bathwater sitting cold visible through the open door, towels and bathrobes on the floor. Stomping to the bedside, she paused as she grabbed the top blanket, then shuddered in disgust at the obvious stains. How had the thick blanket been ripped? What . . . she had seen the chains coiled on the floor near each corner of the bed. Now two hung close from the headboard, handcuffs dangling open.

More subdued, embarrassed, she gathered soiled blanket and sheets, thankful she didn't have to wash them, starting a pile for the servants. Adding the bathrobe and towel to the pile, she made her way to the bathroom for the rest. Two washrags lay in puddles on the floor, one tinged pink. Another towel, this one ruined with blood. Draining the tub, she tried desperately not to think, tried not to remember all the bruises. By the time she had cleaned the bathroom and found the mess of bandages, open jars of ointment, additional cloths stained red, she no longer envied the royal mistress.

She had finished everything, tidied, cleaned, called the servants to cart away the laundry, made the bed, and stood staring at the silver chains wondering if it was acceptable to move them, hide them, when she heard footsteps and quiet voices. Standing respectfully, unobtrusively off to the side, she watched as the door opened and her lord walked in, looking magnificent in a fortune of emeralds, diamonds, silver, and silk. Guards shuffled into place outside, the door closed, the sound of the heavy wood and the clicking of the lock perhaps masking the groan and the soft thump of knees hitting thick carpet.

The healer had spun from the door and crouched by the time her feet could move. The white-haired youth huddled for a moment before getting an arm up around Hanataro, and she offered her arm for support on his other side. Strange eyes studied her; she merely stared back. He must have accepted what he saw, grasping her arm and struggling to his feet. Her eyes caught the healer's as they walked slowly to the bed, surprised to see not just sadness but anger in the usually placid gaze.

It wasn't fair. Slave or not, the brave young man had fought for his prince's honor and his princess's life, now sporting more bruises than before and not from the Kenpachi. The boy could barely walk, yet had strode in on his own feet, looking proud, had stood through the entire ceremony, no doubt. She took off the silken slippers and helped her lord lift tired legs, seeing the clenched eyes and jaw ease as a deep breath was released.

"Hanataro, I'll need more medicine. Should I avoid food because of it? I feel rather nauseous."

His voice was perfectly even, controlled, and she bit back both pity and anger, going to get cold water. She was born and raised in Las Noches, she knew perfectly well how men and women of power could treat their playthings. A royal mistress was rumored to be more, to be respected nearly as much as their royal masters. Obviously, that was not the case, at least behind closed doors.

Catching the healer by the arm at the far side of the room where he was rummaging in a cabinet, she whispered.

"He's not going to the dinner, is he? Hanataro, he can't! He can barely stand."

The healer only bit his lip and grabbed a paper packet, pulling against her hold as he turned.

"Please, you're a healer, make him stay."

"Be quiet! You don't know anything; just do as you're told."

She never would have thought the mousy healer's apprentice capable of snapping at anyone, especially her, and she glared as he walked away. Well, if he didn't have the balls to do something to help, she would just have to think of something herself. No one should have to put up with this kind of treatment. It just wasn't fair.

ooooooooooOOOOOOOOOOoooooooooo

At age 7, Shunsui met the exiles. Reiokyu was two lands. The one he had learned of from his tutors was a self-sufficient and ancient kingdom of strict formality, closed to the world and extremely hostile to outsiders. Every generation or two, a formal letter would arrive announcing a new ruler, the exchange of power evidently peaceful. A congratulatory response was allowed, without a gift. History said their military had weapons that no one understood, capable of great destruction, and the royal family could command the massive ice dragons that could wipe out a town with a single attack.

The other Reiokyu was the one in his nursemaid's stories. Nobles fair and beautiful, long-lived wielders of magic, cities of delicate spires shining white with gold filigree, rich and fertile lands hidden behind high and dangerous mountains that never thawed. The dragons in her stories were wise and benevolent, protecting the peace of the fairy-tale kingdom. Her royal military was made up of princes with long, silvery and golden hair and eyes as pretty as a girl's, no mention of magics that could wipe out a battalion with the swipe of a hand.

These stories swam in his mind when the small family came to court, and he bounced on his toes, looking everywhere for the pet dragons he was sure would come. But there was only a tall couple, fair and almost otherworldly. He the younger brother of Reiokyu's king, exiled for sedition, a word Shunsui did not understand; she the breathing image of the angels painted on the chapel walls. The daughter was nearly betrothed to him, he had heard it discussed despite the lady being 14 years his senior. Instead, she was to marry a cousin of his father, the man who held the southern border through war and constant raiding. The son was two years older than Shunsui, though small and delicate looking.

Disappointed at the distinct lack of dragons, Shunsui was cold to the willowy, white-haired boy. But time and again he was charged with entertaining the young exile, until he found himself playing and talking. Juushiro was open and friendly with everyone he met, but there was a calculating look in the kind brown eyes that caught the young prince's attention. Soon the two began to talk about things more important than who could ride a bigger horse or who knew more card games. Both had known loss, Shunsui's parents killed in the last southern war, Juushiro losing his home and his baby sister in the treacherous journey over the mountains. It was true, he learned, the story of the dragons, though the gift to control them had died out generations ago.

At age 10, Shunsui had finally seen his first dragon when his grandfather took him on a tour. Dragons hadn't been sighted anywhere near the city of Seireitei since his grandfather was a child, but the northern border of the kingdom of Seireitei was nearly barren of settlements thanks to the creatures. It looked delicate and ethereal, almost invisible against the pale sky high up the mountainside. Until it had swooped low, casting a blood-red eye over the brigade that guarded the princes. Northern horses bred and trained to hold their nerve still rolled eyes and reared.

He did not see his friend and now constant companion weeping, did not notice the turn of the dragon's head to watch the white hair buffeted by blizzard winds. He only had eyes for the dragon, longer than the entire train of guards and attendants, wings blocking all sunlight for an age of darkness, the sound of a single stroke like a raging spring storm. It was a horrifying monster, and according to historians, the royal family of Reiokyu could control them, use them as weapons. It made him wonder why such a kingdom had not conquered all lands rather than remain a closed kingdom with nearly no contact with the outside world.

At age 12, Shunsui fell in love. He was already a trained fighter, a student of the law and politics, his mischievous streak well-hidden in the presence of his royal family. The only one who knew him, really, was Juushiro. It was inevitable, he thought. His friend was more beautiful than any man or woman, smarter, wiser, stronger than anyone. He decided that he would wed Juushiro. It was not unheard of, a political advantage often the cause of a male union but it could also be done for love. A noble concubine could provide heirs, and there was no one more fit to rule at his side.

At age 14, Shunsui had his first kiss. He and his grandfather had quarreled again, the king insisting on betrothal and Shunsui stating flatly that he would only have Juushiro. The king called him a fool, falling for the magic that made the northerners irresistible, charming all who saw them. He called his grandfather a fool, for not seeing the qualities that made Juushiro the only choice for a consort. His friend did not know any of this and looked mystified when the prince showed up at his friend's estate in the middle of the night, blurting out a mess of confessions. When the older boy, now formally a man though still small and looking younger than Shunsui, did not rebuff him, his heart's fate was sealed.

At age 16, Shunsui had that heart broken twice. He could be as stubborn as he liked. His grandfather was king, and an exile granted land and title by his authority could not refuse an order. His friend and lover was the epitome of beauty in formal attire, tall after a late growth spurt though still thin, regal in bearing, and he fell in love all over again as he kissed each blushing cheek and wished the union joy. Juushiro understood why he did not attend the wedding, getting solidly drunk alone instead of trying to hide his sorrow. Not long after, he gave up. He was drunk, too, as he placed a crown on the black locks of a woman he did not know, wishing the circlet rested on snow-white instead.

Shunsui at age 31 was reminded that the beautiful exiled prince was also a trained warrior, proven in battle and more than capable of leading men. His grandfather was ancient, health and mental ability in decline, leaving him the responsibility of the crown but holding onto the last shred of authority. He could not go, could not leave Seireitei, though every fiber of his heart and soul urged him to take up his sword. Half of the Visored were already converging on Las Noches, the other half he would send with Juushiro, along with a company of cavalry that would wait at the border. He could send no more without risking war with the kingdoms between Seireitei and Hueco Mundo.

He did not ask permission of the king. Nor did he try to dissuade his friend from riding to the deadly desert, only provided what protection he could, wishing the myths were more kind, thinking that only a dragon could bring his love back whole. First the boy, the last of the family that seemed under a curse since their exile. Then the girl, gone in the dead of the night. Word traveled by wing, the boy located only yesterday, alive and in the hands of the king and prince of the most warlike kingdom in history. As for the girl, no one knew.

ooooooooooOOOOOOOOOOoooooooooo

"Where have you been?"

Oh, he was angry. No teasing, no wide-grinned 'And what have you been up to, my darling?' Rangiku hid a wince as his fingers dug into the underside of her left wrist, then turned with a smile, free hand framing the side of his face, thumb caressing sharp cheekbone.

"Here and there, saying hello to old clients, drumming up some business. That's why you brought me, isn't it? I should think it's been a success, you have no idea what this dress does to a _man_."

She was angry too, about his coldness, about being taken off duty like an old mare being put out to pasture. And Toshiro, angry about that, too. She told herself no lies about the line of work she was in, the type of man that runs such establishments. And Gin was worse, old nobility, king's adviser. Selling an abducted noble to a brutal owner was the kindest thing he'd done in years, she was sure. Sometimes, she longed for the old days when she was young and just accepted that this was the way the world worked.

"That is not why I . . ."

Stumbling a couple of steps, she caught her balance and walked swiftly as he pulled her out of the milling crowd, false smile plastered on her face for the watching eyes, no time to wonder what he had been about to say. She knew she was in trouble when he yanked her through a doorway into a small sitting room, one of many that lined the throne room for clandestine meetings and the resting of tired aristocratic feet.

Expecting it didn't stop the gasp, nor the tripping of her feet as he spun her around, bruising her wrist and slamming her back against the wood-paneled wall. His other hand pressed the wall beside her face, pulling her hair. Tall and lanky, Gin's willowy form made him look frail, until it was pressed close. She could feel his strength, her right hand grabbing at his side, the sinewy muscles hard with a lifetime of fighting and training well-hidden underneath rich silk in opulent layers. It was a strength she knew well and had missed, damn him.

"Where were you?"

The question became a demand hissed close to her lips, pale blue eyes captivating hers as a snake would entrap prey, and she nearly gave away the game with the moan choked in her throat. And this was what made her angrier than anything, that she knew what he was, despised him for everything she had seen him do, for everything she had done under his command, and still it was his empty eyes she saw herself reflected in every time she dreamed. It wasn't love, too painful and messy and damaging to be love. Or it was, and she was just too far fallen into the world of a whore to desire anything but someone so dark that the very thought of being near him made her shudder.

"With Toshiro."

"Toshiro?"

He'd gone still, analyzing, and she chanced a teasing smile. She'd always pushed boundaries with him, more than anyone she'd ever seen. Yumi called her suicidal, but it was just her nature to not back down. When she stopped to think about it, she was sure that's what kept Gin's interest.

"Oh, yes, he was wonderful! You wouldn't believe the way that small body can move. Not small everywhere, that's for sure. I think I might be in love."

He said nothing, just stared, expressionless. Like he had when she barged into his office shouting. Like he had the last time she tried so hard to seduce him, before he just turned and walked away. Why? Why was he toying with her like this? What was going on in his dark, twisted mind? All her bravado faded as she stood there, seconds ticking by, trapped by his body so close and so far away, waiting for him to leave again.

"Gin . . . please. What do you want from me?"

The hand by her head moved, knuckles trailing gently over her cheek. She knew better, it wasn't affection, and stopped herself from leaning into the touch. Down that hand went, slowly, fingertips on her bared shoulder, taking a moment to follow the curve of clinging silk around the side of her barely covered breast. She would have counted it a victory if his eyes had blinked just once, if he had looked down as his hand moved lower instead of keeping those piercing eyes trained on hers.

Just as she started to relax into his touch, that hand moved like lightning. A short, sharp scream and she clenched her teeth, the hand snaking between the slit in the silk, between her thighs, two long fingers suddenly shoved right into her. Damn this dress anyway, she thought to distract herself, teeth grinding. Months with barely any action, she wasn't prepared for such force, dry fingers nearly tearing sensitive skin. But she didn't yell at him to stop, she didn't try to push him away with the hands clutching tight at his shoulders, because she knew what he was doing as he watched her face, as his fingers delved deeper, and it had nothing at all to do with pleasure.

"Satisfied? Fucking bastard."

Now he could not deny her word, the evidence clear that she had been with no other this day. She had never betrayed him, not once since he had commanded her to remain his alone. And he had never believed her. Why would he? She was the top whore in his stable.

The pale eyes slowly closed; the pale hair slowly lowered. Thin lips rested at the crook of her neck, a deep breath, inhaling her scent as she barely breathed. What new game was he playing?

"Ran-chan . . ."

There was no way to hold back the groan when his fingers, still deep within her, writhed like the snake that was his sigil, the perfect symbol of the treacherous house he led. It ached, and her body responded, her mind giving up the effort to stay ahead of him. He had done this, kept her waiting and wanting for so long that it took only the rough molestation of her body to reduce her will to nothing.

"What are you doing to me?"

What? Surely she had said that, yet it was his voice, faint and almost needy, his lips moving against her skin, his whisper scraping every nerve. Thoughts spinning, she tried to grasp something important, something profound, yet it was lost as she was bitten twice, teeth sharply nipping her neck, fingers bending within and thumb bending without, knuckle roughly rubbing. Too rough, too sudden, or it would be if not for the longing and relief tearing at her, making her cry out encouragement and arch her body into that abusing touch.

Just as suddenly, the harsh teeth yielded to soothing licks and warm suction, the chafing touch softened to gentle undulation within, mild massaging away from the too sensitive centers of pleasure. She winced at the tugging of her hair, still trapped against the wall, but there was no choice as her weight sagged against the wall, down against his hand, legs trembling with the too rapid stimulation. He responded, releasing her hair to reach down, grabbing her thigh, pulling up her leg and supporting her.

"Nooo," she whined as his fingers withdrew and then pushed back up, in, and she meant anything but 'No.'

Her hands slid forward to find each other behind his neck, wrapping tight around him the way she knew he loved, a symbol of her complete dependence. It just felt so good. Not any attention, but his attention, at long last, and she despaired during one fleeting moment of clarity, wondering if it had always been this way, or if he had masterfully guided her into this exact situation, so desperate to feel him that her body would crave only him, ruined for anyone else. No, surely not, it was only lust, only deprivation; she would be fine after this was all over, she would endure and survive.

Slick now, rhythmic penetration she had missed so much that the first shallow orgasm came and went with a shudder, a clenching, her gasping breath making him bite down again, higher on her neck. His lips grazed hers, moving away as she tried to capture them, tormenting her to find the other side of her neck.

"Let no one else touch you, Ran, no one. You're mine."

She moaned, blaming it on his thumb dipping into her, coming away slick to rub at her clit. It wasn't his words that effected her so, she told herself. She was property, true, but not forever, and her pride made her bite back.

"I'm yours. For sixty three more days."

Curse her wicked tongue! His fingers pulled out of her so fast she bit back another yelp, and she slid farther down the wall before catching herself. He was already yanking open the door, not one glance at her as she scrabbled back to her feet. Left alone to catch her breath and straighten her clothes, she found a mirror and set the rest to rights while she glared at herself.

So wise, the one everyone came to for counsel and she always saw straight through to the crux of their problems. How had it taken her so long to see the truth of her own tangled affairs? She walked back into the gathering of the wealthy, the powerful, the depraved, and her eyes instantly found the one man who was the epitome of all three. He would seem unaffected, as always perfectly in control as he grinned at some glittering lady and her noble lord; they thought nothing of the way he held his hand up as if to cover a yawn, his nostrils flaring and tongue darting out to taste long fingers right there in the middle of the crowd. Only she saw through to the truth, both frightened and exhilarated by the implications.

It hadn't been her intention, she wasn't sure she wanted it, she had no idea what to do with it. But somehow she, born to poverty and sold into a brothel, she had captured the snake's heart.

ooooooooooOOOOOOOOOOoooooooooo

He had hoped being the lowest ranking member of the royal household would earn him a place at the foot of the table, far from the prince's sharp eyes and far from any need to hold a conversation. No such luck. After a time alone with all eyes on him, two mistresses wearing collars approached him with polite introductions and courteous words. They looked quite alike, sisters, one perhaps as young as the prince, the other the oldest he could see based on appearance. The arrival of the new royal couple brought the casual mingling to an end before they ran out of safely meaningless chatter. A servant bowed and showed him to a seat he would rather not have, not only for its proximity to royalty but because he was dreading sitting through a formal dinner when his stomach was roiling, and his back was sore despite the medicine.

The king left the head of the table empty, sitting across the table. To the groom's right sat the bride, and then him. It must be simply that the dinner was in honor of the prince and his household, or perhaps it was to sew discord. He'd already cataloged the looks of envy and spite from all but the two who greeted him. Fortunately, the more mature one, Ran'Tao, was to his right. The table was large enough, he may not have to engage much with the ones across the table.

To the king's left, his favorite, Shutara, immediately struck him as a devious and two-faced bitch. One might expect that from the favorite of this king, who also set off alarms every time Toshiro met the brown eyes. Next, directly across from him, was an exotic beauty, green eyes contrasting with exposed skin the color of fine chocolate showing a belly rounded with late pregnancy, and oh, how she showed it off, taking her time and making a fuss about getting her swollen body settled.

"May you soon know the joy of carrying a royal child, highness."

"Unlike the rest of us," Shutara said sweetly, "who may only carry bastards."

A faint sigh from the mistress next to him, well hidden. A narrowing of green eyes with a simpering smile, a demure act, another caress of the full stomach enough of a retort. Beside the dark-skinned mistress, the younger sister, Yoshino, blanched. A tender heart, protected somewhat by her elder. Pregnant, he assumed by the reaction, the barbs thrown between the favored ones taking casualties.

"Are you, by chance, a foreigner, Lady Shutara?"

He glanced to the princess, hiding his surprise. Was she implying . . .

"No, Your Highness. My family has held title in Hueco Mundo since the first sun rose over the sands."

"Ah, I see. I meant no insult. That's really impressive. I bet you can tell me everything about the desert and the history here. Perhaps it is because I was foreign born and had to be educated on traditions that it stands out. Is it not a fact that all children are without name until they earn it, no matter whose womb bears them?"

Well played. He barely suppressed a grin, looking at the innocent and wondering expression of the fair princess, the false and cynical friendliness of the king's favorite.

"Well, that is true. However, those with family and strong bloodlines are assured of a future. Your child shall have every advantage. With the prince's blood, moreso with the princess as mother, he or she will rise with the aid of tradition."

Diplomatic response and yet still managing to insult every mistress at the table, and maybe increase resentment against the princess. Yet she, too, was a mistress, one high in favor. She was no snake but a spider, seemingly insignificant, creeping and spreading poison from the shadows. She played the part of queen, backing up to hide behind the lack of the crown she coveted, just one more mistress.

"We are fortunate to have your experience and insight, my lady," he gave the dangerous lady no smile, the mask he wore dealing with those he found distasteful. "I, too, am foreign and have only recently read of this. It is an interesting tradition, meant to ensure the strongest heirs by making all children of a man equal until proven otherwise. It seemed untenable to an outsider like myself, until it was pointed out to me that the current heir, my own lord and master, was not, in fact, born of a queen. All are bastards, and none."

Even the king raised brows, though he carefully avoided returning the calculating gaze. The dark one, Mila Rose, was not the least bit tactful, scoffing at the favorite.

"And so you are schooled, my lady, by the newcomers. Not that it is knowledge you need. I must admit, I'm jealous at the moment. Maybe I will take a few years off from having children after this one. You look so well rested."

"Thank you, my dear. I do sleep so very well, warm and comfortable every night."

Never had he been so glad to see food arrive, temporarily ending the verbal war. The wicked smiles and backhanded compliments between the two women made him very glad to be the only 'mistress' of the prince. If he was trapped here and others came to the prince's bed, which he could only expect, he would have to find a way to prevent such dangerous and undignified rivalry.

"Clumsy fool!"

The sudden clatter and hissed words drew his eye, though he noticed none of the other mistresses seemed surprised or interested. Many of them had a servant hovering, retreating to the wall when not needed. Shutara's was a young girl, hair as black as her mistress' gathered in two long tails, a fringe over one eye making her skin look pale. She was small, and did not fight at all against the harsh grip on her wrist, nor the way she was flung back roughly, stumbling to fall, pitcher of ice-water spilling all over her. He nearly leaped to his feet to go to her aid when Ran'Tao's hand pushed down on his thigh, a subtle movement side to side of her head.

"Can't even pour water, stupid little bitch."

The blond servant of the dark mistress helped the smaller one to her feet, both sets of eyes cast down as they retreated to the wall. On the thick tablecloth, two drops of water soaked in at the base of the water glass. For that, such careless humiliation. No one else seemed the least bit appalled by this, and the favorite turned back without further comment.

There was a quiet conversation between the prince and princess, some laughter from down the table, and a whispered thanks from the mistress beside him that he acknowledged with a brief nob as he managed to swallow a few spoons of soup. Fine clothes, gold, silver, emeralds, faces painted with kohl and deceit. What a miserable house.

At least he would never have to carry a child, never use it as a way to curry favor and threaten rivals even in the womb. Yet every hateful word earned a slight widening of the king's smile, an increased glint in his eye. Repulsive.

He leaned forward unnecessarily to take his glass, affording him a view of the prince's face. A similar smirk, a similar amusement in the eyes, his master enjoying the toxic environment created by the king. The man would do the same, as he had been taught, pit those around him against one another. Then the children, the royal bastards would be taught to scheme and kill, to revel in their siblings' blood, all in the name of sick tradition. Brown eyes turned to him for an instant, eyes that had looked at him so coldly when he was weak, that had looked so warm when he was obedient. He thanked fate that his stomach was empty as he clenched his jaw against rising bile.

Sitting back, he sighed and pushed the food around on his plate, what little appetite he'd had wrecked by dark thoughts and ruined hopes. He hated himself for giving in, for willingly falling into the delusion that he had something here worthwhile. And yet he mourned, feeling loss nearly as great as when he realized his family and his life was forever gone.

He occupied his mind with thoughts of escape, for once a real possibility. Ran had said he had the freedom to leave the palace. He was certain that alone would not help, but if Hanataro could guide him, provide information on how to get out of the city, which way to go, how to survive the desert . . . he would need supplies or trustworthy aid, neither of which he had. The fortune in jewelry might buy aid or might get him taken straight back to his owner. And Hanataro, the young healer wasn't exactly well-connected; how would Hanataro be of any use, really? It would likely get the healer killed. Certainly, if the prince suspected any of this Hanataro would pay dearly.

There wasn't really a choice. He'd have to tell Hanataro to forget it, to never mention it again. Or ask the prince to send the healer back to his duties, distance himself. It was too risky for both of them, for too small a chance of freedom. And it wasn't like he was in serious danger, well, not any he hadn't jumped into willingly. Better to wait, build more useful connections or watch for the right opportunity.

"Is the food not to your liking, my lord?"

"Please, Your Royal Highness, just Toshiro will do. I'm afraid I simply have no appetite."

"I know, desert food can be so . . . bland."

"Bland!" He was startled out of morose thoughts by that.

"Mmhm. Like this, spiced lamb is okay, but wouldn't it be better with something a little tangy, and sweet, maybe? Oh, pickled apricots! With raisins. That would be so good mixed in with this."

Shuddering at the disgusting thought, he offered a mystified smile. Her face, so centered and focused when engaged with the mistresses, was now so open, so young. She was beautiful before, but with the genuine light in her smile, a playful twinkle in her eyes, she was breathtaking.

"Oh! There's a fish course coming, Ichigo promised. Maybe you'll like that?"

She sounded so hopeful, and he found himself charmed as everyone at the table should be.

"I'm sure I will, highness. There was always fish on the table, back . . . back home."

Stupid. He'd blame the medication and the sweet alcohol, letting emotion get the better of him in such a delicate setting. She didn't miss it, a flash of concern before cheer took over.

"Really? Fish every day, imagine that! You lived near water? What was it like?"

"He lived near the ocean, a great sea of water as far as the eye can see."

Their conversation had become public, the bubbly princess too loud. He could see the prince, leaning forward a bit as he spoke to their entire end of the table but looked in his direction. The man's expression was kind again, no hint of the cruelty he had seen moments ago as he shared stories told in the quiet of the night.

"Boats the size of villages sail on it, catching fish larger than horses, longer than this table, large enough to swallow men whole. Can you imagine it, my dear? They say the sea is as deep as mountains are tall, waves like dunes and fast as sandstorms that could crush the great ships. And our lovely dragon has sailed that sea, braved the desert of water. That is the type of lover I want at my side, a heart with the courage to face monsters."

He nearly winced as the questions began, every one of the harpies hoping to score a point of favor in the prince's eyes by showing interest in the new, shiny toy. But he answered graciously, falling back on years of training, watching his controlling father and his compassionate uncle, developing his own set of skills dealing with those who want something, even if it is only a moment of recognition. It was automatic by now, leaving his mind room to think amount the admiration in those wicked, warm brown eyes.

Replying when he had to,offering a few more words in support when they took aim at the princess who proved surprisingly able to defend herself and fight back with grace, the much-anticipated fish came and went, dessert came and went, and the end was in sight. His legs, at least, were rested from the long dinner, though he had to grit his teeth, hiding the discomfort of getting back on his feet, trailing at the end of the line of lovely women to offer a final congratulations, bow again to prince, princess and king. As he straightened before his owner, the formal words died on his lips. This girl was his age, untouched, inexperienced, lost amid serpents and harpies. He recognized the look in her eyes, the hint of excitement struggling to the surface of an ocean of anxiety.

It was not proper etiquette here, yet he reached forward and took her hand, white and soft as a lily. As in Seireitei, he barely ghosted his lips over the back of that hand as he bowed over it, then held it a moment, looking into surprised eyes almost the same shade as his master's.

"My most sincere congratulations, Your Highness. May you and our prince share every happiness."

It was some comfort, he hoped, as he could not promise her that she would be happy. But perhaps she could see the lack of fear in his own eyes as he bowed to his master and the look of pleased amusement from the prince. Perhaps if she concluded that he, a slave, was not afraid of his treatment here, it would give her a little more courage in the face of the unknown. He only hoped he was not lying.

 **ooooooooooOOOOOOOOOOoooooooooo**

 **A/N** – Than you all for responding to my pathetic plea for petting hidden in a denial of wishing for reviews.

Okay, I know it seems like this one moves so slow, especially since the multiple small POVs were meant to make it move a bit faster. I've cut so much out of it already, like the side romances and dramas. I just can't help turn every story into a fucking epic. I swear, I'm going to write at least one one-shot just to prove I can stop.

 _ **Eva kimbali**_ – Good lord, I don't even know what to say. Just a bit about how much that review means to me . . .. I can't believe you saw all that in this story. Many of the things you picked up on are exactly what is in my head – the aching conflict in Toshiro in particular which is after all the heart of the story, the hidden character of Ichigo under the cruel prince, the fantasy background and what it means to each of them. But I seriously doubted my ability to convey that at all. Maybe that's why I get long-winded sometimes, to try to get the feelings of the characters across and not let them get lost in the drama and the * _cough_ *smut* _cough_ * which I, for one, feel is almost vital to this story. And then you wrote that review, which I read like twenty times. And suddenly I felt like I managed to tell the story, somehow. Thank you for that, so much.

 _ **AvtorSola**_ – Once again, so flattered! Sheesh, you can write a stunning political web. **Transition Period** was so intriguing! I'm going to have to catch up on some other manga/anime to read your crossovers. I was so late to start reading/watching, it's sad.

 _ **DenIchi Hitsugaya**_ – I always love your reviews, your enthusiasm, your humor. Thanks for your input, as always!

 _ **Princesssatz**_ – Number one supporter on this story from day one, I'm glad you're still there, still interested! I know you like happy endings, and I hope not to disappoint despite my dark streak.

 _ **PacificOurobus**_ – The first person ever to leave me a review, after like a billion words on Love Calls. That was a really depressing thing, writing 14 chapters with absolutely no feedback at all. I almost stopped writing when you left that review, so a special thanks to you. I've had a lot of fun writing since then.

 _ **Beebo85**_ – Longtime supporter, thank you! Glad you like complex, seems to be what I do even when I try not to, :)

 _ **pj, Sailoriris61, lara5170, sam**_ – Thank you all for the words of support!


	27. The Wedding Night

.

 **Chapter 27**

 **The Wedding Night**

 _The trust of the innocent is the liar's most useful tool. ~ Stephen King_

* * *

One thing she had learned quickly and had the lesson reinforced often - few knew any truth and fewer told it. Her guardian, for example, had never allowed her to so much as sip alcohol, despite it being more common than water in the tribe. He claimed it would make her sterile. The old women who served as her attendants and tutors laughed at this. One had borne eleven strong children, and claimed she only gave up alcohol once her belly started to swell, and if alcohol made it hard to conceive, she should have drunk more. Then the crones would all cackle and make jokes about male stupidity. Yet, the women had all sorts of silly notions of their own, rarely agreeing with each other. She had been subjected to all sorts of stories, instructions, rituals, bathing in horse's milk to protect her skin from the jealous sun, hiding from the new moon in case the demon who stole the moon's light also stole her virginity, eating the most disgusting things to improve her odds of conceiving sons.

So, perhaps those around her could be forgiven for mistaking her for an idiot. Her wide-eyed expression and exclamations of wonder were inevitable, the idiotic things she had been taught ensured it. Still, every new thing she was told was only half believed, waiting for some kind of proof since so many had lied. Sometimes the proof was in small things, like the way her prince filled her glass at dinner, obviously not concerned in the least that alcohol would make her barren. People here were better educated, less stuck in superstition, surely.

She turned with a sigh, looking away from the tapestry depicting a desert hunt, lithe dogs slathering between sharp teeth and lathered horses, a dozen strong warriors with long spears ringing a dragon. The poor creature, female by the golden scales streaked with dark red blood, so badly outnumbered. It was hardly sporting.

Her eyes went to the bed draped in dusky purples and silver, lit by thick candles. She hadn't expected him to leave her, a quick peck on the cheek and a promise that he would hurry to her once he had dealt with some necessary business. He had vanished with a pack of guards, leaving her with time to think, time to worry. She had married a future king. Such things were bound to happen.

But she knew what to do. She may have a lot to learn about being a princess instead of being hidden away in a harem, but she'd had plenty of instruction on what to do on her wedding night. Discarding the little dream she'd had of him slowly undressing her, she undid the golden clasps at her shoulders, so easily sending the silk and lace slithering down to pool at her feet.

Everything her tutors had taught said that she was supposed to undress. Then she was to lay herself on the bed, flat on her back with knees up and apart. Then her husband would penetrate her, and she was not to struggle or cry even if it hurt. They said it would hurt. But they also said it hurt less after a few weeks, and he would probably stop while she was pregnant.

There was nothing to look forward to tonight, according to what she had been told. Yet there was that tingling excitement when he leaned close to her, the urge to press closer when his lips brushed hers. She remembered the one slave woman, the one that claimed she had been born a foreign princess and married to a lord before the tribe destroyed her lord's city. The others called her crazy when she spoke of how much she missed sex, how she and her husband devoured each other every night.

Enough. The slave probably lied. All the other women lied. It was her duty, and if her husband found any pleasure in it, then all was well. She left the jeweled slippers tucked neatly side by side at the edge of the bed, carefully placed her jewelry and the priceless crown on the bedside table, turned back the blankets, placed herself appropriately, and arranged her hair in what she hoped was an attractive cascade over the pillows and her shoulders. And she waited.

ooooooooooOOOOOOOOOOoooooooooo

"How many?"

"One for you, three after the princess, a single and a pair. The single was sent by who you suspected, confessed quickly, barely had any fun. The pair were less talkative, so we let one escape while the other was being questioned."

He congratulated himself for hiring Yoruichi. He wasn't very good at capturing enemies alive. They tended to die before he could bring himself to think of asking questions. The regular guards had only spotted the one hired killer he had predicted would make a move during the procession, sent by none other than his father's favorite mistress. Even he hadn't noticed the pair. They never got close.

As for the one that had thought to hide in the servant's stairs near his quarters to take a shot at him with a crossbow as he went to his wife's rooms, that one was lucky Urahara found him before Ichigo did. He followed his personal assassin into the same sitting room where he'd recently planned the coming raid, and there the fool was, hogtied and a bit bloodied.

"New recruit?"

The small desert warrior that had come along with his wife pretending to be a lady's maid stood guard over the man at least three times, likely four times her size.

"Call her an apprentice. She's got some spirit to make up for the complete lack of training."

"I'm a warrior of Kenpachi's tribe, not your damned apprentice!"

The bristling girl seemed to remember his presence when the golden eyes rolled in his direction, and somehow she managed not to collapse after a moment of panic. Dragged away from the door of his wife's chamber on his wedding night to deal with a half-brother caught trying to murder him, he knew he looked terrifying. He'd noted her nerve before and approved of it.

"Forgive me, your highness."

He ignored her, meeting instead the mean, beedy eyes glaring up at him. He picked up the clunky contraption, casually pulling back the string and setting the lock. The ugly face, slightly improved by fear, followed his hand as he placed the bolt meant to end his own life.

"Coward's weapon, Reiichi. Though anyone would thank you for not having to see your face as they died."

"Cowards hide behind guards. You gonna run and tell father, now?"

His little half-brother was a big guy. Big lungs. Small room. But a crossbow bolt in your thigh does warrant a little screaming so Ichigo gave it a couple of minutes out of courtesy before a slight nod had Yoruichi sighing with relief while she yanked tight on both ends of the cloth gag suddenly between the pale, puffy lips.

"You do not have the right to call the king father, and you never will. I'm sure _my father_ would love to speak with you about the attempt to kill _his son_. Let me guess. My guard is down anyway now that the Ascension is behind me. A good amount of alcohol during the wedding dinner, distracted by the coming consummation. Easy target. Honestly, boy, I'd think you didn't know anything about me.

"You're too stupid to think of it yourself, and just smart enough to be manipulated. You want to save yourself a lot of suffering and tell me who put the idea into that tiny brain? No? I'll make it easy on you. Just give me a little nod if it's Shukuro."

A quick flash of panic told him he was right. Shutara's sneaky son had finally made a mistake, probably because his dear mother was infuriated by Ichigo's Ascension, then sent off the edge when his wife and his lover dared to not only talk back but draw her into a verbal fight she couldn't win. He could just imagine the fit she had thrown when none of the hired killers got close during the procession, goading the usually cautious Shukuro into one final effort to kill the lowly bastard who had murdered her precious firstborn and stolen the crown.

Reiichi wouldn't turn; the dumb thug was completely taken in by Shukuro. Poor brute was just a distraction, a last-ditch effort in case all other attempts failed. But the inept assassin wasn't entirely without honor, misplaced as it was. And he hated Ichigo. The loud mumbling was already annoying, and the rug was now unsalvageable. He had much, much better things to do than watch this pathetic pawn bleed.

"Alright. Untie the bitch and send him on his way."

Yoruichi stuffed the cloth into the still yelling mouth before moving to cut ropes. The little warrior looked back and forth incredulously. So young, just turned 15. She could not have been in real training for long, or she had lied about her place in the tribe. If she was truly training as a desert warrior, she would have understood his actions. If assassins came after his family then he didn't care who ended them or how, as long as they died. But this one was after him. If he caught the bastard, he'd kill him. But killing a half-brother tied up by hired guards? That wasn't the way the game was played.

"Dig yourself a very deep hole, you ugly piece of shit. Hmm," he kicked the bolt sticking out from the bloody cloth, soaking in the muffled scream, "I barely grazed you. Five or six days should give you time to heal a bit. I'd hate it if you couldn't run." He dropped the heavy crossbow and turned for the door. "And don't worry, little brother, I'll be close enough for you to see my face."

He grinned as he reached the top of the stairs. Bowed to and given gifts by the entire kingdom, not to mention all the surrounding ones, gorgeous lover properly deflowered, gorgeous wife waiting for his return. And now discreet proof of treason. Maybe not directly against the vicious bitch Shutara, but one testifying against her favorite remaining son, another being followed, likely straight back to that same son, and the unexpected bonus of a filial hunt or two. A very good day.

Entering his wife's sitting room after a nod to Chad, stuck on guard duty until things settled, he was a little surprised not to find her. Then he walked through to her bedroom and stopped in his tracks. For a glorious minute, his mind was blank. No picking apart of past events, no plots for tomorrow, no thought of anything at all except the slow appreciation of the sight before him. Flawless skin with a luscious peach tint that complimented the candlelight. Her hair, shining streams of gold-gilded sunset, laid over her like lace with those magnificent breasts cresting through.

All hard to even notice when curves of calves invited the eyes to climb to peaks of smooth knees and then slide joyfully down wide, creamy roadways to the pristine, untouched valley shaded in dark ruby like spilt wine ready to be gathered on his tongue.

He had to shake his head to regain focus, the immediate erection ignored in the face of the more important question. Why? He walked closer, her face coming into clearer view as he rounded the side of the bed. This was not a move of seduction. Her breathing was a little erratic, like she was trying to force deep, calm breaths. Cheeks prettily flushed, jaw and lips pressed tightly shut. Most importantly, the nervous flickering of eyelashes as she looked straight ahead, gazing at the canopy above without looking at him. Her fingers were clutched in trembling fists below the flaring of wide hips.

Time was, the taking of a chieftain's bride was a bloody affair, a celebration that usually ended in deadly fights before a public claiming of the bride. That is how it would have been if she were a common member of Kenpachi's tribe, not protected and raised for a purpose. He could only imagine the bloodbath that would have ensued to win her. As for here in the heart of desert civilization, only a few generations ago the wedding night was still witnessed by many nobles. Even now, old women would be gathering in the hall, waiting for at least aural proof of consummation. Stupid traditions were commonplace, almost always at the expense of the woman.

His innocent wife had been sheltered and raised like a rare flower. More like a sacrificial offering. He looked at the way she had positioned herself and knew exactly what she had been told to expect. And still, she offered herself like a dutiful chieftain's wife. He wasn't sure if he was proud of her courage, or if he pitied her ignorance.

It wasn't her fault, he reminded himself as he shrugged off his jacket. And it would have been true. That very morning, he could have taken the opening given by his father and rejected her. What then? The tribe would have taken her back. Her beauty would have won her another match, one more like what she had been trained for. And then she would have laid herself out like an offering and been treated as she expected, as an object for pleasure and a broodmare.

The big, brown eyes shut for a moment when he kicked off shoes and bent to push down pants. The skin on her throat rippled as she swallowed and then went back to staring upward. A tiny, fearful squeak escaped when his weight shifted the bed, strands of red hair whispering like the ever-shifting sands.

He stretched close, not quite touching, on his side propped on his left elbow. She blinked as his hand passed through her line of sight, fingers brushing lightly across her temple and ear until his palm fit along the curve of her jaw, thumb stroking cheek.

"Orihime, my wife, my princess . . . breathe."

Something other than nervousness and determination glinted as she blinked again, eyes starting to soften as he did nothing but look at her and let his fingers move slightly.

"Relax, sweetheart."

She swallowed again, and her face turned slightly toward him. Her eyes, wide and curious, still afraid and yet excited, they were captivating and almost as alluring as the sight of her spread open and waiting. He smiled encouragement.

"Good girl. Now, just let your legs relax, too. That's better isn't it?"

How was it, in a land where both men and women were free to be as sexual as they wished, encouraged to flaunt and appreciate their bodies, taught by example that inhibitions were for foreigners, how was it he had come to possess two that knew nothing? It wasn't just virginity, but a complete lack of understanding true pleasure and its uses.

"You were magnificent today, my dear. How that brute managed to raise a princess, I'll never understand. I doubt he even knew just how rare a treasure he gave to me."

The thin skin of her lips was slightly damp, soft against the rough edge of his thumb. She had no experience in hiding her reactions, muscle of her jaw twitching under his fingers and eyes glancing down from his eyes to his lips as he traced the bow of her lip.

"You were quite clever at dinner. One could believe you were raised at court with how you handled those harpies. I'm sorry you had to deal with them. You truly will not have to often, the king's household and ours do not need to mingle."

The slight blush intensified with his praise, every word honest. Both she and Toshiro had held their own, even supported one another. It was good to know that they could not be bullied easily, especially since it had made him sick to play along with the sadistic king rather than defend them against the petty cruelties of the mistresses.

"But . . . um . . ."

"Go ahead. You can say anything to me."

"Well, Ran'Tao, she offered to teach me to fly her falcons. I've always wanted to, and I told her yes. Only, I won't if you don't want me talking to her, my lord. She . . . she seemed nice."

She looked so hopeful and so flustered. He leaned closer and his hand slid down her neck.

"First, it's just Ichigo. Always when we are alone or with family. We only need titles to impress outsiders. And of course, that's okay. Orihime, you're princess of Hueco Mundo. You can do as you like, though guards will be with you and your friend. I have a variety of birds you can try, and if you take a liking to one it's yours. Only, I must warn you. Ran'Tao is likely one of the kinder mistresses. But one does not keep favor with the king for over fifteen years by being nice. Do you understand?"

The bright excitement died down with that final caution. It was an unfortunate fact, she would find few friends in her life here. She would need to be always on guard, always assuming the worst from every 'kindness' shown. There would be little time for her to learn these lessons, and he hoped to give her guidance slowly enough that it did not break her courage. Thus, the guards, until she could defend herself physically and mentally.

"I understand. Do you think . . . should I invite Toshiro? I mean, would that be okay?"

To that, he gave his widest smile. Trustworthy? He wasn't sure of that yet. But Toshiro had defended her honor almost to his own death before they had even met. And the young man had played off her cues like a prince when he could have let the king's mistresses take their shots at her. Plus, there was the obvious advantage of a peaceful household if his wife and lover could stand united.

"A fantastic idea, my dear. I'll be having you both trained with weapons, as well. Not for a few days yet, don't worry. Anything else you want to learn, I'm sure we'll find a good teacher without much effort."

Her smile was as stunning as Toshiro's, more innocent, full of wonder, with her nose wrinkling so adorably that he had to give it a quick kiss. The smile faltered for only a second, and only out of surprise, before returning. The hand that had been quietly exploring her neck had been drawn down to her collarbone, fingers catching slippery bits of silken hair that shifted away and down, revealing more of the creamy curve of her breast. Young and firm skin fought to counter gravity, the pull of flesh to the side and down making him want to cup that skin and hold it. She could rival Rangiku with those, and it was hard to resist kissing them for just a little while longer. It would be worth the wait to have Orihime not just willing because she had to be, but because she wanted him.

"I have always wanted to learn healing. I mean, there's nothing more wonderful than being able to save someone, or even just to help them when their hurt."

Perhaps too sweet for this place, despite the wit she had shown. Then again, the healer was as far from kind as anyone he knew; Unohana might be a good influence. He trailed his fingers from her shoulder, across her chest above the beautiful swell of her breasts, lingering with little circles on her breastbone and the base of her throat. He could feel her heart racing, hear the hitch in her breath, and he was leaning slightly over her, still not touching but close enough to feel her heat.

"You're in luck. The best healer in the kingdom lives here in the palace. And I happen to know she is not entirely satisfied with her apprentice. I'll speak to her about having you spend time learning from her."

"Oh, thank you! That's so . . . so . . . unexpected."

He pressed his lips to hers, not for long, just enough to make her eyes widen and then wince shut as his lips moved gently. He moved back only a little, feeling the warm puff of air as she released her held breath and looked at him again, startled. Finally, his fingers confidently explored the curve of warm skin, dancing up and around to sample the weight of her breast with the faintest squeeze.

"And what did you expect, lovely wife? For me to lock you away so only I could enjoy your beauty," he kissed her again while she trembled, grabbing a little at her lips, "and your bravery," this time her lips moved tentatively, and her tongue darted out to wet them when he broke away, "and the sunlight of your smile?"

His fingers slowly brushed across the rose-pink areola, feeling the skin rise, the nipple harden. He kissed her sighing mouth, tongue dipping barely between parted lips, her body turning just a tiny bit toward him. As their bodies met, he felt her trembling increase at the simple touch of a few points of skin along her side. Well, one of those points was the prominent length of his erection, barely resting its weight on her thigh. She had not even looked yet, and he wondered if she had ever been shown a man's form. Likely not, given that primitive brute's behavior toward her.

Parting from her lips, he let his thumb graze back and forth against the pebbled skin as it had against her blushing cheek. There was more excitement in her eyes now, curiosity, trepidation but trust. Now he could take her, gently and easily, overcoming the very understandable fear that was certain to return again and again as he taught her what it should be between a man and his wife.

"You are my desert flower now, Orihime. Meant to bloom in the full and free sun, not shut away in shadow."

Her smile could give life to the most withered of hearts, and he foresaw the love she could inspire in the most hardened of the old nobles. They feared him and would bend their pride to his prowess. They would wish to please her for the chance of winning her smile, while the common folk would fall in worship. And they would be wrapped in knots of lust around Toshiro's delicate fingers before they realized he had them under his spell.

Leaving that smile for the moment, he kissed her cheek, then her forehead, tenderly, making sure she felt the unhurried warmth of his admiration. When she turned her face slightly to bring her lips closer, he knew she was ready for a little more. Her lips parted easily when he guided them, and she giggled when his tongue slipped past her teeth. When the giggle stopped and he felt her hand on his arm, clutching lightly, he lifted her tongue and stroked it.

He moved slowly to not startle her, yet firmly so that she would not question that this was inevitable, required. His hand gathered up the red silk of her hair, moving the last strands out of his way on one side, then the other, and he broke from her lips to lift his head and take in the sight of bare skin. The big doe-eyes watched his face, and he made sure to show his appreciation in his smile.

The next kiss was more demanding, pushing her back while his hand moved lower, fingers spread to cover the soft expanse of her belly where his palm circled for a while. He had already known she was the most beautiful woman he'd seen. Now he knew she was perfect, every curve from grasping finger to curling toe a delight to find and stroke. Her lips glistened, ripe strawberries dewed by hot breath between cheeks nearly as red. Her eyes stayed closed, the hand on his arm daring higher, fingers twitching as they skimmed up his elbow and tentatively pressed to feel his muscle.

So soft, her own muscles untried, healthy flesh under skin treated like a treasure, clean, polished smooth. Even the dark red hair was soft, curling loosely around his fingers as the legs parted so perfectly before now clenched shut while startled, confused eyes flew open. His hand pushed farther down despite the resistance, palm cupping her mound, and he drew away from her lips to watch her reaction.

So warm, the tender folds wrapping around his skin as he pressed firmly. Shocked eyes and blushing cheeks, and he smiled, slowly, gently flexing past the velvet lips into the damp heat of her. So warm, her breath escaping in a gasp, sucked in again, then released in a sweet, quiet moan. That virgin breath of desire was the most erotic sound she would ever bless him with, and he cherished it.

ooooooooooOOOOOOOOOOoooooooooo

She let her mouth open easily against his, wanting to feel his tongue again, even if she had thought it strange. It felt good, his hand pressing into her where she never thought to be touched by hands at all, let alone so gently. They were all liars. Her eyes drifted shut again, just as he moved back down to kiss the base of her throat where another moan was forming. Unsure, she sort of wanted to move closer, but she wanted to pull away, too, and settled on just trying to stay still like she had been taught.

They were all liars. She had expected to simply endure fear and pain, even after her confusing reactions to his little touches throughout the day. Had none of the old crones ever felt this, the quiet fuzziness that made all the worry seep out of her, leaving her soft and lightheaded? Had they never needed to touch a man so much that they couldn't say when their hand had slid up an arm solid as steel to find that a man's hair could be as silky as a woman's?

Now, she did not know what to think, except to wonder if it was strange, the way her skin tingled, feeling a kind of tension flowing with the movements of his hand. And the nervousness that had made her stomach clench in dread, now it felt the same but different, a weird anxiety that increased with every stroke of his tongue against hers, every jolt of sensation when his finger pushed against her, into her. Surely, it was not normal, or every one of the women would have rhapsodized about it along with the crazy slave.

"Let go of your fear, Hime," she shivered at the sound of the nickname only Tatsuki used, breathed so lightly on her skin. "I'm right here with you."

And he was. It had only been a day, and already she felt safer and more cared for than she ever had, even with the heat of him hovering closer over her. Only a day ago, she had never touched a man's bare skin with hers, even taking a hand to dismount there was at least her glove to maintain propriety. Now, as she lifted her head to be the one who kissed, both her hands roamed new and tantalizing territory, bare fingers on bare skin. One hand on his chest playing with the bright red hairs, one skimming from shoulder down his arm and up again, eager to simply touch and to know, to feel that terrifying and exciting strength.

It was too much, and she was glad when the heat of his mouth moved away from hers, letting her gulp air to try to cool down. But then his hand moved again; she could feel the tip of his finger dragging wet warmth along her skin, a shock of something that felt wonderful making her stomach clench, another strange moan leaving her, even louder. Then she realized how her body had moved, hands tightening on his arms and his shoulder, back arching and legs loosening to push herself against his hand as two of his fingers pushed, causing a lovely sensation that made her cry out and push against him again.

"That's my girl."

She would have hidden from him if she could. One alarmed glance to see if he was angry or laughing at her, and she quickly shut her eyes tight. He was smiling, and there was heat in his eyes that made her feel even hotter. She had seen desire in men, figuring out long ago that many men would like to touch her if they were allowed. The looks were furtive, guarded, the fear justified as her guardian would kill for something so simple as a glance. Not until coming here had she seen such bold eyes, and none as intense as the ones staring at her now. It should be frightening, but how could she be afraid when he rubbed in a way that made her gasp again?

His weight shifted; without conscious thought she let her legs part in the empty space. With a great deal of conscious thought, she felt the rounded, stiff heat that she had staunchly ignored dragged across and down her leg. Just when she managed to gather enough courage to look, the movement between her legs changed, the fingers that had been pushing deep within withdrawing, sliding, circling.

Finally, she managed to force her eyes open again, only to find the fierce eyes and handsome face filling her entire vision, hovering so close. Another rush of pleasure, another gasp, another smile.

"Ichigo . . ."

"You okay, dearest?"

The simple press of lips to her cheek, the sudden lightening of his fingers to the barest, easy petting, it felt wrong. She thought about turning her head to try to get another mind-numbing kiss. Maybe that would be enough to answer the question that she tried not to let pass her lips.

"Ichigo, will it . . . will it hurt?"

"Oh, Hime."

She shuddered again, whether from hearing him say that name in his deep purr, or the continued slow writhing of his fingers.

"Yes, it will probably hurt this time. But not for long, and not the way you think. And then, sweetheart, it will feel like this."

Before she could ask what that meant, the kiss arrived and nearly did erase all thought. She didn't care anymore if it hurt, just asking seemed to lessen the lingering fear. But he was not done answering, his fingers moving away and a much greater pressure suddenly taking all her attention. Hot and large and it did hurt, but not the way she had thought, he was right. She could feel her body stretching to fit around him, the very thought of it making the discomfort unimportant.

She didn't try to hold back her voice, muffled as it was by Ichigo's tongue. Until he broke away, and she heard him moan her name and somehow everything became even hotter, her skin burning. A soft and wordless cry brought his lips back to hers as a jolt of even greater pleasure washed away the tiny pain and lingering fear, her knees coming back up and thighs clasping the hot and hard angles of his hips.

She knew her body was moving on its own, out of control, her hands finding and clasping around his neck as he moved, shifting inside her, out a little and then shoving in again. She knew she was making little noises like a hurt child in time with the sliding pulse of his movements, though she felt anything but hurt. No, it was splendid, and quite the opposite of what she had expected.

"Ooh! Oh, my!"

He was all the way inside her; she could feel his body pressed so close. And it did still hurt, just a little, if she focused on just that, which she only did for a second before much, much better feelings overwhelmed her. The sliding out lasted forever, yet it was only a moment before he was pushing back in, and out again, and it was delicious, each stroke hurting less, and aching more, and making her feel real.

"Hime, open your eyes."

Tempted by the always confident and commanding voice so low and breathless, she managed just a peek. The handsome face, usually so stern and controlled, was close above her, all his attention on her. Fierce eyes were half closed but locked on hers, the walls down revealing pleasure and concern and admiration. Between the desire in those eyes and the sigh she felt on her cheek as he flexed faster, she shut her eyes tight again. It was too much to take, his eyes, his soft smile, his muscles clenched and completely bare. It was all she could do to try to process the physical feelings of his body moving against hers, in hers, without having to see how beautiful he was.

Strained whispers of her name, rough panting, and noises that matched hers made her feel safe letting more whimpers and cries escape in time with the steady rhythm. Then he was kissing her breast, and she gasped when his lips found her nipple and closed, tongue stroking then flicking. Her head stretched back and she arched to push closer to his mouth, closer to his hips, completely lost in what he was doing to her body.

All of it. His voice and hers louder and faster and less coherent with every breath. The fire wherever their skin touched and the cold tingling wherever her skin was bare. The wet, smacking sound when he recaptured her lips between panted endearments, and the similar sound lower in time with the firm thrusting of his hips. The feel of it, like each touch, each stroke wound tension within, building and swirling until her muscles tightened each time he moved.

All of it blended into the most ecstatic dream, full of marvelous visions of passionate kisses and intense brown eyes softening just for her.

"Ichigo!"

Her husband. Her prince. With him, she had the rest of her life to live without fear, without pain, without any of the nightmares she had been promised. And if that illusion crumbled, if fear and pain came for her, he would be there, her prince, her husband.

"I'm here, Hime."

And with that gruff whisper, her body shook and every sensation curled tight around the hardness inside of her. Tension burst, heavy, wet silk dragging over her body, through her mind, dampening and slowing her thoughts as if holding time still. Then, like the wind cresting the wave of a dune, her world spun and fell in bright heat that would be terrifying if it were not for the solid, powerful presence surrounding her.

"AHH . . . oh, all . . . all . . . LIARS!"

ooooooooooOOOOOOOOOOoooooooooo

Intoxicating, the scent of her, the taste of her. It was not nearly enough, that tiny hint of flavor he had swiped off his fingers. He had been careful, courteous, not pushing more boundaries than he had to. Ironic. With a wife, intercourse was where everything started, intimacy hopefully following though not required. While with his pet, intimacy was immediate and intense, the act of sex the culmination once all barriers were broken.

He had pulled up the sheet to not further strain her modesty, again appreciating the irony for she had not once looked directly at the cock that had been deep inside her. Someday soon he could taste her directly, bury his tongue in the perfect petals until she offered all her nectar for him to revel in. Sooner than he had thought, based on tonight.

Those lucky fingers drifted through long red locks, the soft, sleepy body curled on its side with one flushed peach cheek on his outstretched arm. Hints of big brown eyes started to show through slowly blinking lashes, and he thought maybe he did have a type after all. Big eyes, reflective, cool turquoise and consuming, warm chocolate, responsive bodies, and vocal in their passion.

Vocal . . . that reminded him. _Liars._ He had his guesses and would have laughed had he not been quickly swept away by her orgasm, such sweet rippling wet heat, lovely and amazing. Gods, he loved sex. It was the only thing in life that felt nearly as good as winning.

"How do you feel, my beautiful wife?"

Big eyes, eyes that drew you in and trapped your willing soul, and he waited for those endless depths to look at him and respond with a tentative smile.

"Mmmm."

She stretched lightly and shivered as his hand skimmed down her shoulder and arm to twine fingers with hers. Everything about her posture and gestures spoke of trust. Personally, he didn't think he had earned it yet, but he understood. He was the first man to ever treat her decently.

"That good, hmm? Tell me then why you called me a liar?"

Though he was teasing, he watched her reaction avidly. So genuine and innocent, the slow realization and the hint of panic as she clutched at his hand and looked earnestly into his eyes.

"No. Oh, no, Ichigo, not you, never you."

Leaning forward, he kissed her forehead, calming her down.

"I know, dearest. I know."

Just as fascinating, watching her figure out that he had taunted her, a moment of doubt, amazement, then the most unimposing threat in her narrowed stare and pursed lips. He chuckled, and the mock irritation vanished. It was almost embarrassing, the adoration in her face. Well, he would just have to live up to her expectations.

"Kenpachi told you it would be terrible. No doubt it was terrible for any woman he touched."

She looked down demurely, though he was sure her eyes started to trace the lines of his abdomen as she spoke quietly.

"Not him. He never talked to me except to correct me for something or yell at me. It was my tutors. They raised me, a group of widows and slaves. They said husbands were just a curse women have to survive, and if I was lucky I would be one wife of many so that I didn't have to endure my husband's needs too often."

"And they lied? You do not find my presence a trial and my needs a burden?"

Almost, she started to panic again. His wife learned quickly, searching his face and locking onto his faint smirk.

"They lied. Or they are women to be pitied for their misfortune. Ichigo, I . . . I think you are wonderful." The color in her cheeks rivaled the blush at the height of her pleasure, and she finished in a whisper. "It was wonderful."

One more kiss, easy caressing of lips while his hand stroked her heated cheek.

"And you, my wife, were perfect."

He pulled the sheet higher as, tucked the light fabric around her shoulders as she tucked her head in embarrassment, then returned his hand to clasp hers. Letting his eyes close as her breathing became deeper and slower, he blessed his luck once more. Perhaps it would have been easier on him if Orihime and Toshiro had come to him a year or two apart, only one vulnerability that needed protected and strengthened at a time. But both were proving more resilient than expected. Each seem inclined to help the other, which both worried and comforted him.

It was up to him now to keep them alive and to keep them loyal lest the turn a united front against him. He had seen it before, when the first queen and a couple of the mistresses thought to defy their master, though the king had ended the strife in his household quickly and ruthlessly, bloodily. He hoped he would never have to see his wife or his lover fall to an enemy. But even more, he hoped it was never his sword that cut them down.

 **ooooooooooOOOOOOOOOOoooooooooo**

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 **A/N** – Okay, just like I did for the last update of "To Be By Your Side," this chapter has almost no plot development, so **another chapter will be out in a couple of days, three days at most**.

In other news . . . that was my first full hetero sex scene! Ah, lost my virginity.

Thanks for reviews!

 _ **Princesssatz**_ – I liked that chapter, too! I don't usually answer about future events. But for you . . . I promise I won't kill Juushiro. As for the dragon, well, gotta have some surprises.

 _ **DenIchi Hitsugaya**_ – still with me! Ever since your comment, I keep thinking of Toshiro as the royal bitch. Yes, Hime and Shiro gonna get along just fine.

 _ **Lara5170**_ – You're following just fine! I know, long stories and slow updates, you lose so much of the detail. But yep, Ichigo is not at all like daddy dearest but has been playing along his entire life. And yep, Momo's a bit delusional when it comes to Toshiro. It was AGES ago when I had some from her POV and how she figured the reason Toshiro wasn't betrothed was because Juushiro meant them to get married, when really he was keeping it a secret that Toshiro was gonna marry Shunsui daughter. Like Ages and Ages ago. Jeez, I'm too slow.

 _ **Beebo85**_ – Thanks! The multi POV turned out to be a challenge. I want to tell too many of their stories.

 _ **DayWrecker, IdolDigidestined, shittles**_ (lol, keeps auto-correcting to Skittles) – Thanks for taking the time to drop a line! Every comment makes my day.


	28. Plans & Plots

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 **Chapter 28**

 **Plans & Plots**

 _Planning is bringing the future into the present so that you can do something about it now. ~Alan Lakein_

* * *

Far to the east, the sun was already shining on a land that had no reason to fear the dark. Seireitei was not always at peace. To the north, the ancient kingdom of Reiokyu had been quiet for generations. To the west, the poor lands controlled by the anarchist state of Rukongai, incapable of standing an army. To the east, the sea. Only the chaotic south, then, to keep a wary eye on as one general after another took the crown off the lifeless head of their predecessor.

Here, where dawn was still trying in vain to avoid visiting the wastelands, it was a different type of peace. The desert was never truly stable, the tribal chiefs and the old houses still holding just enough power to keep the monarch's hand on his sword. The borders were quite stable; the thought of any neighbor invading was ludicrous. A century of predation by the forces of Hueco Mundo had kept the surrounding lands weak, any leader that could hold power long enough focused only on defense.

The result was a bizarre sort of mass surrender, those who were assuredly powerful and independent acknowledging the need for a leader simply to ensure they did not all destroy one another. An iron fist to crush one hopeful usurper after another was not enough. A devious mind to play enemies and friends with equal ruthlessness was not enough. A deep pocket to fund and guarantee the loyalty of legions that contained strong representatives of all classes and all families was not enough. But find all three in one man or woman, and you have a true and absolute monarchy.

It was the current king's great-great-grandmother who established the first dynasty to last more than two generations, breaking the tradition of the heir being killed within days of taking the throne. She made the current king look like a fuzzy kitten. She had reordered Hueco Mundo with the unquestioning loyalty of the army, crushing the churches, making the oldest families and the fiercest tribes bend the knee to her and to her heir, solidifying her son's power while she still lived. Four generations, nearly five generations later, the fall of the Aizen family would plunge the desert into chaos, so tightly the crown held the reins of commerce, the military, and secrets no family wanted revealed.

"What the fuck does that matter?"

Shinji paused in his lecture, looking with irritation at the scruffy girl currently disguised as a scruffy boy. Just his rotten luck that she was close enough to be one of the first to Las Noches. Visored could move quickly, more quickly than the fastest horsemen, one of the many secret talents that made them elite. The rest of his cohorts had stayed in Seireitei. He couldn't count on any more than he had now – Lisa, Kensei, and, for better or worse, Hiyori.

"Know your enemy, and all that."

"Like you're paying attention, nose in a smut book when it isn't up Shinji's ass."

The book snapped shut and he sighed, rubbing his temples as the two started yelling at each other, drawing unwelcome attention from the few early risers struggling through a bland plate of tough yellow clumps that might have been eggs, though the eggs of just what creature he did not want to know. True, they were all in disguise, and none of them would understand a word of the language only their elite corps knew, but better not to be noticed at all.

"Shut it, both of you," Kensei's warning growl was enough to get both of them to settle down, glaring at one another.

"The point is, for those of you who haven't been here before, everything and everyone here is our enemy. Even if they're enemies of the king, they can't be trusted. The royals got 'em all by the balls. Our contacts here can barely provide a safe place to sleep and a bit of money. That's all they've managed in decades."

"So, we're on our own. What else is new? You got a plan yet?"

"Prince is leaving town tomorrow evening, taking his favorite companions with him. One can assume the boy will be left behind, brand new bride, too, as a back-up if we need a hostage. Though honestly, this king and prince aren't likely to care about hostages, so that's probably not worth planning. That's the good news."

"And the bad?"

He looked at Kensei, catching the glint of interest from the two stubborn females. The Visored were some of the most uniquely talented fighters in the world. As such, they did tend to pay attention to others who achieved recognition.

"Prince has got himself some new guards just for his family, that is his wife and his _mistress_ , our target. A team of assassins, led by the head of the Shihoin family . . ."

"Yoruichi and Kisuke?" Hiyori practically shouted, earning another warning from Kensei which she ignored in favor of bouncing on the bench with a big, wicked grin on her face. "Is it? Is it, Shinji?"

Well, might as well make the little demon's day. At his nod, she squealed like he'd just given her a pony. That's what she should be excited about, far too young to be the proven killer who could take him down two out of five sparring sessions. She should be cheering for a pony, not for a pair of infamous assassins to pit herself against. Sometimes, it just happened, a talent no one asked for.

"Yuuto, my lovely, could you have your friends tone it down a bit? Lots of people sleeping in after the big wedding, you know."

"Ah, sorry, ma'am. A bit too much excitement for the little one."

"Why you . . ."

"Yuuto, my lovely, is it?" No one could leer quite like Lisa. "She's a real treasure, Shinji. Must be an animal in the sack to make up for the cooking."

He sighed. Well, he couldn't deny his own excitement at the challenge, the possibility of outwitting or even facing in battle two living legends. More than once, he had thought to leave the Visored, the shadow force of the crown of Seireitei. He would never be a famous fighter. To achieve fame would be to fail, to be unmasked.

"This kid worth starting a war over?"

"That's not really any of our business, Hiyori."

"Kensei's right, it's our job to fetch him home at minimum cost and at any cost, not to ask questions. But we all know. You're the only new one. _The kid_ , as you call him, is heir to the king's cousin, and to Lord Ukitake. He just reached majority, so he'd take over as guard of the southern border. And, he was to be betrothed to the young princess. He's to be king consort one day, and therefor our future commander. We've got to get it right, no time for a second attempt. Otherwise Ukitake will show up with a handful of soldiers and get himself killed. Then we really will have a war."

"Reiokyu royal, too," Lisa added. "Not that it matters. His grandfather was their king's brother. Reiokyu nobles used to be sorcerers; I'm sure you've heard the stories of their dragons. They say that family is irresistible, some kind of sex appeal that makes people fall all over themselves. His grandparents died barely a year after arriving in Seireitei, murdered after weeks held captive. His mother was said to be lovelier than the stars, and her husband had to fight off attempts to steal her. And if you've seen Ukitake, you'll understand what I'm talking about."

"That old man? Gross."

And yet there was a faint blush on the freckled cheeks. Enchanting, no one who had met any of the exiles could deny it. It was a curse, it seemed, at least for the boy. Shinji wasn't one for sympathy and sentimentality but even he felt the urgency, wanting to rush to the rescue to spare the kid another day of torment. Captive, enslaved, forced into the bed of a ruthless man, such a nightmare could destroy a body and a mind. He could only hope the boy wasn't too badly damaged, that there would be something worth salvaging.

ooooooooooOOOOOOOOOOoooooooooo

Once, when he was still himself, he was always up by dawn. Exhausted by the four days of nonstop challenges, pain and mind dulled by medicine, he had fallen headlong into a black, dreamless sleep, alone and uninterrupted. Gods, had it only been four days since he woke drugged and chained in the very comfortable and massive bed? It seemed a lifetime, one of extremes that had drained almost every ounce of his energy.

Stretching, groaning at the deep aches in almost every muscle, every bone, every inch of skin, he blinked and managed to lift his head enough to spot the trolley laden with food being arduously dragged into the room. The loud growling reminded him that he hadn't eaten much at dinner and only a little bread at lunch, and he tossed off the blanket and sheet to find himself clad only in underwear. Hanataro must have undressed him and somehow gotten him under the covers, for he certainly didn't remember doing it himself.

"Good morning."

The young healer jumped a little and stared at him. No wonder. That rasp would scare anyone, the damage to his throat catching up to him. Nothing a little tea wouldn't fix. Only there wouldn't be tea. There would be that bitter black liquid that made his tongue sour. He'd asked for tea, oh, was that only yesterday? Hanataro had looked so hurt, explaining how the coffee was a luxury from far away, worth a fortune and selected for him by the prince. He hadn't had the heart not to drink the stuff.

"How . . . how are you feeling?"

He held the edge of the bed for a few breaths, making sure his legs would hold him, and managed a fairly steady walk to the desk that had become their usual table for shared meals. He was glad Hanataro had stopped fussing about such things.

"Not as bad as expected. Thank you for your help."

Still a little fussing, the usual blush and averted eyes. The man looked tired again, very tired. Despite the protests of his stomach, he walked past the desk to the wardrobe, knowing Hanataro would be more comfortable if he took the time to put on a robe. It took a minute, every little movement an effort and a reminder, threatening to distract him with actions and feelings he couldn't and didn't want to escape.

That's when he happened to look at the oval table by the door, the one meant for dining which he ignored. He wandered over to look at the items covering the surface. Boxes of various sizes, some decorated with ribbons or flowers. Small pouches of velvet or silk. A short stack of letters.

"What's all this?"

"Gifts."

So matter-of-fact, like he should have known. Then again, hadn't Ran warned him not to accept gifts by hand, but ones sent through servants were fine? He hadn't thought to ask why the odd rule, or why anyone would send him anything in the first place. He opened one of the smaller boxes to find what he recognized as flawless ruby earrings and flipped open the card attached to find an invitation to visit House Hikifune signed by a Lady Kirio. He was going to need help. Kiyone or that guard, probably, or Rangiku if he could get her. Choosing which invitations to respond to, who to thank and who to ignore, he understood the politics of it but knew none of the players. Answering or not answering one of these could lead to trouble.

"How do I get a letter to someone outside the palace?"

"Hmm? Oh, there are messengers. I guess I'd take the letter to them for you."

Not very secure then. Not that there was any harm in asking Ran to come see him. By the time he returned to the desk, the plates were ready. His distracted appetite was back with a vengeance, and he tried not to shovel several bites into his mouth one after the other, unsuccessfully. Once the edge was off his hunger, he looked at the wide-eyed healer and saw the bruising around reddened eyes staring at him.

"Hanataro, did you not sleep at all?"

"What? Um . . . no, not really. I was busy in the library."

"The library? All night?" He took a drink and grimaced, though the heat made it worth the taste. "It's too much, isn't it, trying to take care of me and keep up your studies? I'll talk to my master. Kiyone seems competent enough, and you can go back to more important things."

"No. I mean . . . I wasn't . . .." A deep breath and the young man collected himself before continuing in a whisper. "I wasn't studying. I was working on something to help you."

"To help me?"

"Shh!" He blinked at the flustered man and started to suspect. "I spent the night reading about trade routes and looking up maps. Today I should be able to put it all together. Water is the important thing, but you can't use any of the oases the military might use or the ones the tribes guard. There are small ones, just enough for a few travelers. I think I've found a route that will work if you go farther north before coming back down beyond Wandenreich."

"Hanataro . . ."

"The maps are less reliable beyond that, but water's not a problem past the plains. Food might be, but they say the roads are fairly safe through Rukongai and you can get more supplies in villages."

"Hanataro, stop."

"Yes, yes, you're right. We shouldn't talk until it's ready. What I can't quite work out is how to get you out of the city. I thought about the cisterns, but there are no maps of the caves because of security. Unohana might help, though, and she . . ."

"No! Hanataro, we're not talking about this. Not now, not ever. Promise me, drop it and don't think of it ever again."

The excitement drained out of his face, blue eyes looking teary. He had snapped a bit, he realized, just to stop the words that could get them both killed.

"I promised to help, Toshiro, and I meant it."

"I know you did. But I shouldn't have asked you. I'm not going anywhere, Hanataro. Escape is impossible without risking your life and the lives of anyone who helps me or even is suspected of helping me. It's not worth it. Now, promise me you won't do anything else."

The silence stretched as Hanataro stared at him with that thoughtful, almost wise expression he'd only seen when the man was reading. With an air of confidence that was unexpected and a bit unsettling, the healer reached for his cup and took a slow drink, eyes now studying him.

"Okay. If you promise not to tell the prince to send me back to Unohana."

Feeling like he had just lost a negotiation without knowing why, he nodded and decided to finish his breakfast rather than wonder what just happened. There was no way simple, sheepish Hanataro could trick or defy him. Right? He had other things to think about. His day should be free, his owner enjoying newlywed bliss. Time to venture out of this room, get some fresh air and exercise, and hopefully distract himself from the disappointment and despair that had come back to weigh him down after watching the Prince of Hueco Mundo revealing his true self, the cruel and barbaric son of an evil king.

ooooooooooOOOOOOOOOOoooooooooo

"Well?"

"Nothing urgent, this can wait."

He was in too good a mood to get angry at that like he normally would. A productive and enjoyable day, a wonderful night, an early breakfast and another round of slow, easy sex with his magnificent wife. Hard to be angry about anything at the moment.

"I wouldn't have called you here if I didn't want to know right this second."

One purple tinted brow rose and her arms crossed.

"When did I let the hired help get so informal?"

"Hired help! You want to say that to me again somewhere with a little more room for me to kick your pompous ass?"

Maybe he could still get angry.

"Ha! Fifty on the assassin."

"Shut it, Renji."

"Hey, I'm not responsible for anything I say before noon. No more Ascensions or weddings. I'm too old to still be drunk at dawn."

"If we could get back on track," he fell into the chair opposite Renji, "I've caught Renji up. So what did you learn last night?"

"There's an old Senjumaru caravan depot on the last west wall, nothing but a storage space since the walls moved out forty years ago'."

"No. That would be too stupid."

"Nevertheless, that's where the one we let free ran to, almost. He stopped just a couple of houses from it. Kisuke had to wait over an hour before the guy left, and then got closer. Place was empty, so he nosed around and found a passage in the basement. He got to the depot too late, so he followed the only carriage on the streets and sure enough, straight back to the Senjumaru family home. Security was too tight to take the risk of getting closer.

"That's Kisuke's story. As for me, I got to follow that bleeding, whining, incompetent bastard. Bad choice, that one. He went home, got himself bandaged up, and I thought he'd stay holed up for the night. Nope, rode off to the big park at the end of the market street. All kinds of trees and hills and shadows; I got close enough to hear him whimpering. He whispered 'Shukuro' a few times, got louder a bit, then, lovely irony, he had a crossbow bolt in his throat. Professional, good distance, gone before I got there. No one showed for the body. Took a while to die, big crybaby."

"Alright. Good work. Some of your team are here now, right? Today should be less eventful, so you and Kisuke get some rest. I'll want you here after dinner while I'm out."

"Got it, boss. Renji, if you get any free time come find us. Kisuke's been dying to spend some time getting to know you."

"Tell your pervert husband to fuck off!"

"Gladly!"

She winked as she went out the door, Renji's muttered curses following her. He sighed and poured more coffee.

"Dammit! That stupid bastard was supposed to be my entertainment. I was even giving him a head start. Well, should have known Shukuro would clean up after himself, using Reiichi was a sloppy, desperate move. I have more than enough to justify killing him."

"Not that you really need it. But you're not going to."

"What makes you think that, Renji?"

"Because it would mean Shutara would come after you. And you've told me before, if there is anyone the king doesn't consider entirely disposable, it's that bitch."

He grinned.

"What the fuck are you thinking? This have something to do with how you threw the princess at Shutara? Oh, you bastard, it does, doesn't it?"

"Did I ever tell you about my mother's death?"

Renji's attitude completely changed, instantly becoming quiet and serious. There were not many secrets between them, and they were all on Ichigo's side, he knew.

"I know she was killed, poisoned. I know it was almost certainly one of the king's mistresses behind it."

"Twenty-one years ago, Masaki was kept by the king after he wiped out her entire family for treason. The Kurosaki's were never particularly powerful, new money, a decent share of trade. The charges weren't faked, though 'treason' was a bit of a stretch. Masaki was never happy; how could she be when she had to go to the bed of the man who killed everyone she loved? But she never let me know any of it, naïve kid that I was, and she had no ambitions at all, no reason for anyone to fear or hate her. The king had more or less forgotten about her. It was my actions that brought about her death."

"Killing Ginjo."

"Oldest son of the favorite mistress, a woman so far above us that she might never have known Masaki and I existed. When the king took an interest in me, he also noticed my mother again, and I finally saw the truth of her misery. I don't have any proof against Shutara, but no one else had any motive. Poison is a traditional weapon for mistresses, even though Shutara had a noblewoman's training with weapons. It's the worst insult to the one killed, not soiling the killer's hands or even her weapons, the victim not worth the effort."

"If you think she killed your mother, what the fuck are we sitting here for?"

One thing Ichigo did well was pick his friends. Or friend, he should say. Yes, he trusted Chad with his life, trusted a few others to stand for him in exchange for wealth, favors, or influence. But Renji was different. The honest rage and disgust, one would think they were discussing the murder of Renji's family, not his own. The man had never even met Ichigo's mother.

He had never told anyone else, of course, never even spoke of this in the dark. He had meant what he had once told Renji. If there was a sliver of affection or admiration anywhere in his father's black heart, it was firmly held by the woman who managed to remain favorite through two queens and nearly two decades though she had not conceived in years, a woman just as villainous as the king.

"It is not enough to simply avenge my mother. I will not fall because of that woman. Years I've been waiting for the right opportunity. Seeing me crowned heir, the worthless boy who ended her perfect son's life, stole the crown from her family, oh, Renji, you have no idea how many times she's tried to kill me. I have never once retaliated. Killed her tools, yes, but never hinted that I knew she was the one behind them.

"But she's clever, that one, and almost impossible to shake. Even my Ascension wasn't quite enough to push her into making mistakes until she was humiliated in front of her king and her underlings by my wife, young and beautiful enough to make her think the king might just discard me and her to take Orihime. Even my little pet managed to wound her, taunted her so skillfully she couldn't even reply. Now, she's overconfident from evading my notice for so long, enraged at my success, and nursing serious blows to her pride."

"And Shukuro? If you die, she thinks he'll have a decent chance at making heir?"

"Better than decent. She's been building favor for him for more than ten years. And the boy isn't a bad candidate. Sixteen now, very good at his mother's game of getting others to willingly do his dirty work, and what enemies he has fear him. Smarter than her, usually. The rest of her get are dead or useless. She's pinned all her hopes on him. I could have killed him at any time, of course, and the king would not say anything about it."

"But he would think about it once she worked on him. You'd lose favor."

"Perhaps. Not now. Kisuke's on the take, collecting a pretty decent sum for telling the king everything I order him to do. By now, my father knows every detail about yesterday's assassins and Reiichi, including how they all trace back to Senjumaru. I'm not the favorite son anymore, I'm the heir. Attempting to kill me is an attack on House Aizen."

"That only gets you the son, though."

"MmHm. And when her golden boy dies, and the king doesn't lift a finger to punish me no matter how loudly she screeches?"

"She'll come after you."

"No. She'll come after Orihime and Toshiro, just like she started her first attack on me by killing Masaki. Why do you think I'd hire a team of assassins of my very own? If she came after me in person, which she isn't stupid enough to do herself and all her attempts through others have failed, then I could kill her myself. She comes after my family, even through a hired killer or something low like poison . . ."

"And she's fair game."

"King's favorite or not. Hell, he might slit her throat for me."

"Shit. You're the damned devil."

"So I've been told."

He shared a mirthless grin with his friend and contemplated. It was odd, unnerving to share past traumas and future plans with someone who did not need to know in order to accomplish his goal. It was a first, and he was not at all sure how he felt about it. And he could see the gravity of it in Renji's eyes, the man fully aware that Ichigo had placed his life in his hands.

Shaking free of doubt, trusting his gut and his friend, he stood and stretched.

"I'd best get back to my bride before she wakes. I'll need you after dinner. Time to wrap up that debt to my father's pet snake. Everything's coming together quite nicely."

"Yeah, about that. You were probably too wrapped up in your princess, but did you see the girl with Nnoitra at your wedding?"

"Hmm? Course I did. That's our opening."

"Huh?"

"Honestly, Renji. She was obviously meant to tempt me, another small, dainty young thing with big eyes. Cheapskate probably won't even offer her to me as a gift, he'll try to get something out of me. So we'll let him. He won't have any choice but to meet with me when I show up looking for her."

"Wow. That's why . . ."

"Why, what?"

"Um. Well, you know how you had me spending time at The Desert Rose? I kinda met her there, Rukia, I mean, that's her name."

"Oh. So that's it!" He leaned over the back of his chair with a smirk. "Not your usual type. How much of my money did you spend on this Rukia?"

"No! Gods, fuck, it's not like that. She's not a whore, not that it would matter, but she's not. She was always working, stupid things like scrubbing the floor with a brush. She was always filthy, and rude."

"I see. Your type after all."

"Dammit, Ichigo, knock it off."

He laughed. No one else could get away with speaking to him in that tone of voice. Well, maybe Toshiro when he was all embarrassed and getting his hackles up. Oh, that boy was too cute when he was pissed off.

"What do you want, Renji?"

All the bluster melted away, leaving a blushing mess rubbing at his neck and avoiding eye contact.

"Oh. You want her. Well, I'm sure that can be arranged. She wasn't wearing a collar, so I can only buy you the years she has left on her contract."

"What? No, I . . . I want . . .. Look, just don't let her get caught in the crossfire, huh? She doesn't deserve it. She's special."

Amazed, he realized that his friend, his twenty-one-year-old bachelor friend, heir to a powerful house that had been pushing him toward marriage, was at least in danger of falling in love, if he wasn't head over heels already. Infatuation, at least. That kind of nonsensical and unreal love at first sight, at least. Oh, he was going to have fun with this.

"So you don't want her as a mistress?"

"No. I don't."

"Alright. She was a pretty little thing, anyway. Just about Toshiro's height. That's nice, you know, easy to hold and all. Her eyes, you don't see that color often."

The slow dawning of horror in Renji's face was quite worth the effort of teasing. While the panic started to set in, he walked to the door, pausing for one more shot.

"Yeah, Renji. I promise Rukia won't get hurt. I'll take very good care of her."

ooooooooooOOOOOOOOOOoooooooooo

There was rarely any reason to visit the third floor of The Crowned Serpent, packed as it was with servants quarters, small bedrooms for guests who stayed the night alone, a few suites for less popular whores. But it did have one thing that drew visitors, a wide, rounded balcony facing the west. In the evenings, it was a favored place to view the sunset for the romantically inclined clients, and was a strict no-sex zone so it was always clean and open for enjoyment. It was peaceful now, shaded and pleasant as the sun tilted over the manor.

"I knew I'd find you here. You barely ate at breakfast. Skipping lunch isn't a good idea."

Delicious, the scent rolling in with the steam as she sat up in the nest of pillows and took the mug he was holding out toward her. Lemon, ginger, and honey in scalding hot water, leave it to Yumi to take the time to make her favorite drink, well, favorite one without alcohol anyway. And she had to admit the plate of fruit and pastries he sat on the small table looked appealing.

"I couldn't look at him again. He wouldn't even meet my eye at breakfast."

"Does it matter? His little mind games have never bothered you so much before."

She stared into the golden liquid, steam curling and vanishing like the useless thoughts that had been swirling in her head all night and all morning. It wasn't doing her or anyone any good, and yet she couldn't stop.

"Ran. I've never seen you like this before. Talk to me."

She took a sip that turned into a long drink as he sat beside her, just realizing how thirsty she was.

"It's nothing I haven't dealt with before, honey. We've got more important things to talk about. The costumes came in this morning, did you hear? Nanao should have checked them all by now, made sure everything's right. This is going to be better than the Ascension party. Less rules, always makes for more fun, right?"

Yumi had such pretty eyes, more of a lilac than blue, brighter for the dark kohl lining his eyes. They weren't quite as attractive when they were glaring at her, though he was ever so careful not to frown to strongly or narrow his eye too much for fear of wrinkles.

"What? Cutting me off already? I'm leaving, so we're not friends anymore? Good to know. Here I thought you'd always be there for me, long after we were free. Guess it makes sense. Wouldn't want to be reminded of what you were."

"Oh, stop it. You don't believe that for a second, and I know you to well to fall for the act."

"Then, you know me well enough to know that I'm not going to leave you alone until you tell me, even if I have to cancel the stupid party just to keep harassing you."

She couldn't help but chuckle. He would do it, wouldn't even hesitate. Immeasurably cheered just by the presence of such a loyal friend, she reached for the plate and the little puff pastries stuffed with clotted cream, staring out at the horizon's clarity, far beyond the clutter, dirt, confusion. It was going to take all her courage to say it out loud. But she was never one for backing down once she'd decided to do something, so she ate her pastry, took a drink, drew a deep breath, and looked right into those pretty eyes.

"Gin's in love with me."

Waiting. No gasp of shock, no scoff of disbelief, just . . .

"And?"

"What do you mean 'And?' Gin, Lord Ichimaru, is in love. With me."

"Uh-huh. As I've told you on more than one occasion."

"What! You did not."

"Please. What was it, a year ago when you told me how he'd started cuddling with you, sometimes not even fucking you first? And what did I say? Sounds like he's falling in love with you. And months ago when he took you off the menu. And then you came to me crying because you weren't getting any sex at all and asked me why a man would act like that, what did I tell you? Only one reason a man with a working dick wouldn't screw you senseless when you don't really have a choice in the matter, and that reason was love."

"You did? Well, obviously I didn't think you were serious!"

"Because when my dearest friend comes to me with her troubles, I would just make up some answer or tease her? Are you trying to piss me off again?"

All she could do was stare for a moment, then the hysterical giggles started, the only option other than bursting into tears. Yumi let her collapse back into the down-filled pillows, a knowing smile on his face while he peeled and sliced a kiwi with precise, delicate twists. When he pushed a piece toward her on the flat of the knife, she was ready to take it, gathering herself, chuckling with more control.

"Now, the real question is what do you plan to do about it?"

"Oh, honey. I have no idea."

"Then I'll tell you, and this time you'll listen. You will not corner him about it, treat him like you always have. Before your freedom date, long before it I'm guessing, he's going to make you an offer. And you, my lovely Queen of Whores, are going to accept. And when you are Lady Ichimaru, I do expect a good deal of your patronage so that I may brag about my favorite client."

"Lady Ichimaru? You're wrong, Yumi. At best, he'll ask me to be his mistress. Either way, how could I? You know what he's like."

"Um. I do indeed. You've always been soft, Ran. He is too, for his kind. I don't know when you started thinking like a foreigner, Ran, but it isn't going to make your life any easier. The richest man in Hueco Mundo being completely at your mercy, that will make your life a dream beyond what you can imagine."

"But, he's . . . he's . . ."

Evil, she wanted to say. But she couldn't. She didn't really think that. Had she never worked in a whorehouse, never met so many people from faraway places with different ideas about how humans treated each other, then she wouldn't have questioned herself at all. By the rules of life here in the desert, Gin was a survivor, a victor, a god among men. The deepest parts of her recognized that, and found it irresistible.

"You know, tomorrow I'll be celebrating leaving here, a chance to make a life where I don't answer to anyone. It doesn't change the fact that I've spent most of my life taking money to have sex with strangers. Some cultures would stone me on the streets. Luckily, no one in Hueco Mundo will care one way or the other. If anything, it makes me more desirable.

"And while we drink and dance, Ikkaku will be riding to war. He kills for a living, men, women, children. He takes captives and sells them into a life of torture. And he is the finest, kindest man I've ever met. Had I not been born and raised in a whorehouse, maybe I would be riding beside him, ready to kill and eager to burn cities and win some slaves. I would have been good at it, I think."

So wise. Beautiful, sensual, loyal, clever, and so wise. She didn't know what she would do about Gin. But she knew what she would do to pay Yumichika back for being her solid support, shoulder to cry on, confidant, and occasional bitchy friend that slapped sense into her.

"Oh, I almost forgot. Since you obviously don't want to think about what you should be thinking about, this should distract you."

She took the two envelopes from his hand and blinked at the seals.

"From the palace?"

"Not one, but two. Aren't you popular these days. Be sure to finish eat the peach before you go. They're particularly good this season, and I'd hate you to miss it if this is your last meal. I'd better go. Your sweetheart was mad at me for skipping the wedding, so he promised that gross old man Barragan my full attention. It's barely past noon, but he's always comes early, in more ways than one."

ooooooooooOOOOOOOOOOoooooooooo

The morning light didn't do Las Noches any favors. The climb through the slums was bad enough, the stench of the wretched crammed together and living in squalor, clinging to the walls like scum. Just when you could breathe again, the lowest districts behind you, came the tanneries with their acidic air that assaulted the senses, eyes watering, nose dripping. Another tease, air clearing to simply dirty rather than toxic, and then the worst of it came, the iron district. No matter how thickly you wrapped your face, your lungs burned like the White Desert where his little bird had been found, burning with the arid sands.

Pitiful thing had nearly coughed herself right off the horse, only the cradle of blankets and his securing arm had kept her from falling to the hard-packed dirt a dozen times. It was her fault, anyway. He would have ridden through at a flat-out gallop, riding down any in his path, their lives not worth taking another breath of vile poison. But he could not. Horse tired from riding all night with extra weight, as slight as that weight was, and the fragile burden in front of him making speed unwise.

The sun rose behind him as the palace came into view, up on it's hill of rock, safely above those it ruled. This was why he had ambition. Not just to be in control of his own fate so that he wouldn't have to run to heel like a dog when summoned, but to keep his head above the filth. The nobles, officers, heads of commerce, highly skilled slaves, they lived where the air was nearly as clean as the open desert. Wide streets, clean with proper paving stones and gutters, solid, large houses with fruit and nut trees providing delicacies . . . a little too tame to make him perfectly happy, but he'd take it.

Another little luxury, the servants who rushed to take and tend his horse, helping him unload his burden, awake but silent, not arguing as she was handed down but then struggling in the arms of a stranger. She quieted down once more as he took her back and settled her weight in the crook of his arm. Her eyes were huge in her gaunt face, big, brown moons that had stared at him for hours. Briefly, she looked at their surroundings and he felt the tiny body tremble.

"It's alright, little bird," he lied in his most soothing voice. "This is where you wanted to be. Welcome to Las Noches, the capital of Hueco Mundo."

"Will you . . . will you take me to Toshiro?"

No one stopped him as he entered the palace, as expected. The palace guard wasn't in the habit of stopping anyone, even a dirty and armed desert fighter carrying a dirtier, ragged thing with a voice like sand. She had said nothing on the ride, though he had talked quite a lot when she wasn't asleep. It seemed to soothe her, so he had told her stories of the desert and the city as they rode.

"Ah, so you can speak. I know no one named Toshiro, and it isn't my job to help you, just to keep you breathing until now. The king's healer will fix you up."

His free hand grabbed a young woman wearing the badge of the king's house, nearly making her drop the stack of papers she was carrying.

"Let the king and the prince know Grimmjow is here, as ordered. I'll be at the healer's, then the hall for food."

True, only the king had summoned him, and it was the first day of the prince's married life. He wasn't afraid of the king, but he'd rather face him with a clever ally in the room. And Ichigo was that, clever, and an ally.

"Quit squirming," he growled and tightened his hold around the girl.

"You're going to leave me."

She actually sounded sad about it. Foolish child, mistaking the care he was required to give for kindness. Another batch of servants scurried out of his way as he turned down the public wing, eyeing the riches sitting on tables and hanging on walls within the reach of any man who decided to walk in here, trying to ignore the mouthwatering aromas coming from the hall where food was always available day or night. Another attractive perk of being caged in a city, tossed a steak any time you growled. It was still not as good as the sight of endless open skies with no roads to force your feet in one direction or another.

"Yep. That's exactly what I'm going to do."

More squirming and he did not look down. He knew those ridiculously wide eyes would be tearing up if her body was able to produce tears yet, as dry as it was. He wondered why he bothered to answer her at all, but then, he'd always been a sucker for wounded things. He kept walking. long strides to rid himself of this obligation as quickly as possible.

"I doubt we'll ever meet again, so listen to me now, little bird. Wherever you came from, this place is worse. No one here owes you anything, no one has any reason to be kind to you. Get that into your head before you get yourself in trouble. You just work on staying alive. You'll never find your husband if you die. Must be a remarkable man, and you a remarkable wife to come this far. Be a real shame if he never knows about it, so stay quiet and heal."

Stopping at the wide, double doors, he bothered to knock. Never piss off a healer, not if you wanted to wake up the next time you took a hit. Just before the two servants took the broken, burnt bundle of bones from his hands, he heard the whispered 'thank you.' His jaw clenched when she whimpered; they handled her too roughly. But it wasn't his problem anymore, and he quickly turned to follow the scent of food.

He had almost made it to the open doors of the hall, stomach rumbling nearly loud enough to mask the whisper of steel leaving its sheath. He'd had quite enough of people sneaking up on him, crouching low and spinning with his leg out, trying to sweep the enemy's feet while his long dagger met the only pure black sword he'd ever seen. The legs he had aimed for were fast, skidding back out of reach and stepping forward again. He was fast, too, weight already pushing up off his left hand on the floor, momentum enough to surprise the body stepping forward. Swords weren't as useful as daggers up close, and shoulders are a lot stronger than guts, especially when both were lunging toward one another.

"Ooof! Shit!"

It was good to laugh; it was better to get a hit on the best swordsman he'd faced in a lifetime of fighting. Even if his victory lasted only a second before weight came down on his shoulder, tilting him right into the sword sliding up the line of his arm to his throat, it still was something to brag about, and he kept laughing as he dropped the dagger and felt the sting of that sharp edge opening a thin cut on his neck before moving away.

He was yanked up and into a swift and rough embrace he returned. Just that quickly, a battle could begin and end. Just that quickly, life could be snuffed out like a weak candle in a stiff wind. That was the best thing about fighting, the reminder, the rush of life that came from dancing with death.

"Attacking from behind. Good to see a crown hasn't turned you honorable, Ichigo."

"You do realize such insubordinate speech is treason?"

A sneer for the tattooed pup that Ichigo kept on a short leash, and he bent back down on one knee, head down.

"Most royal highness."

"Cut the shit, you two. Grimm, where the fuck did you learn to bow?"

He stood, turning to follow the prince, thankfully through the doors into the hall where hot food and cold drink awaited.

"Same place he learned not to bathe. Gods, you reek of horse and sweat."

"And you reek of roses and indolence, great Lord Abarai. Should I kneel to you, too?"

"Oh, you'll kneel alright, once I kick your ass on the training ground."

"Later, Renji. My father wants him first. Don't worry, Grimm, he's busy. You've got twenty minutes to eat as much as you can."

Good enough. There were already steaming plates of meat and bowls of stew being placed in front of them as they sat. He was tearing apart soft, fresh bread and dipping it in thick gravy by the time his ass met wood.

"So, what were you doing at the healer's? You don't look injured."

"What, gotta sing for my super? Just dropping off a stray foreigner we picked up in the desert."

"Starrk getting soft? Or is he worth something."

"It's a girl, a nobody. Don't know why he didn't just leave her or put her out of her misery."

"I do. How's Lilynette these days?"

"Still the clever bastard, aren't you? Anyway, if she lives, keep her for me and I'll pick her up next time through."

Too clever, the orange brow raising. Ichigo knew it was standard to just sell any foreign captives.

"So, what the fuck am I doing here, anyway? You just that upset I missed your wedding?"

"You're here so we can give you something. Something that is worth nothing, but could make you very powerful. Interested?"

"In a riddle? I'll just wait for the king. He doesn't fuck around."

The prince's laughter didn't bother him, not when he had a thick slab of venison on his plate. Yep, he did like the perks of the palace life, until he remembered he was trapped within walls with layers of rock and wood between him and the sky right in the middle of a million stinking humans. If only there was a way to have the power and the good life but still be free. Might as well wish for immortality.

 **ooooooooooOOOOOOOOOOoooooooooo**

* * *

 **A/N** – If you don't check updates often, you might have skipped a chapter because two came out close together, just FYI.

 _ **avtorSola, Beebo85**_ – thanks for the encouragement! I was more nervous about that M/F scene than I was about my first lemon, which was, of course, IchiHitsu. Glad two reviewers I've heard from enough to trust think it was good!


	29. Unrequited

**Chapter 29**

 **Unrequited**

 _Thus have I had thee, as a dream doth flatter,  
In sleep a king, but waking no such matter._

 _~William Shakespeare, Sonnet 87_

* * *

There was so much joy to be had in something as simple as walking outdoors, he had nearly forgotten. At home, he walked everywhere, or ran, to town, to the farms, out into the forest, along the river. There had been too much to worry about recently; he hadn't spared much regret for one of the simplest lost pleasures. The hot desert sun, the trailing guards, even the pervasive soreness that made him have to stop as if he planned to lean casually against the wall couldn't dampen his spirits much. He had found a garden.

The palace had an impressive front area, tall columns and massive doors propped open facing a wide pair of streets with rows of tall trees between them. On either side, slightly less imposing mansions with high walls, and he was sure the one he was first brought to was nearby though he could not recognize it from the polished white steps.

Behind the public front, the palace extended two long wings back, and it was between the lofty walls that he discovered a piece of paradise. Even after he insisted the guards stay off near the all instead of two steps behind him, the gardeners wouldn't speak to him, bowing and scampering away the second he said 'hello' and they glanced at his fine clothes and the cat's eye emerald shining green against his darkly mottled skin. All of them wore collars, simple leather bands dyed dark green.

"Well, so much for learning about desert plants."

Wandering from the familiar vegetables growing in the shade to the mysterious plants exposed to the harsh sunlight, his fingers plucked a soft leaf from a plant that filled most of several large boxes. Three gardeners had been harvesting these plants, little baskets filled with leaves and seeds left behind as they fled. It was beautiful, exhibited in all stages from seedling to tall plants with lovely clusters of flowers to ones plucked of half their leaves and bearing green pods.

"That is called coriander."

The even, smooth voice made him jump a little, and he turned to find a young man with a mild smile and an open book in his hand. Despite being very tall, much taller than the prince, his first impression was . . . _harmless_. That only lasted a second, remembering exactly where he was, a city of ruthless cutthroats where no one was what they seemed. Including him. He barely smiled, deliberately polite.

"Thank you. It looks and smells familiar."

"It should. The leaves are in all kinds of dishes, the dried seeds, even the roots. That's why so much of it is planted, it's a staple in any kitchen. I'm Shukoro, by the way," the kind-looking brown eyes slid pointedly down to his neck, "my lord."

It didn't take a moment's consideration for him to decide not to introduce himself. Now that he knew what his position meant in terms of rank, he should not need to introduce himself to anyone. Besides, the hair, shape of the eyes, bone structure, Shukoro . . . Shutara . . .. A wider smile, though he did not try to make it seem authentic, not yet. He turned and walked toward another section of the garden, certain the man would follow. It so happened this put his guards in view, and he saw the tension in both of them, an almost imperceptible shift of the blond head side to side, Izuru warning him.

"And this one?"

"Cumin, my lord. Another spice you have certainly tasted. The rest of the plant is not as useful as its seeds."

"And these? Far too pretty to simply be used for a seed."

The man had followed, close enough to seem casually familiar, not so close as to alarm him. But he stepped nearer, a whisper of black silk against his sleeve as long, thin fingers reached to pluck something from the middle of the large purple blossom. Curious, he could not resist holding out his hand, fingertips brushing his palm a second too long and leaving behind a dusty, purplish-red filament several inches long.

"Saffron, my lord. A precious spice sold in tiny amounts at high prices. The yield of all these flowers may equal the value of that lovely collar. Not the emerald, of course, nothing can buy that stone in this kingdom."

Far too close, and he barely held back a flinch when he felt the touch sliding along the silver scales on his neck. It may seem like a shiver, hastily and clumsily masked by raising his hand to sniff at the odd thread. The smell was not unattractive, unique. He tilted his head slightly to send a flirting glance at the watching stranger as he slowly touched his tongue to the spice, drawing back with a grimace at the medicinal flavor.

The man's laughter was soft, sounding quite sincere. "This one only shows its value when used, my lord. I recommend tachin or tea to truly appreciate it."

"Tea?"

"Yes, with some ginger and honey. Would you share a cup with me, my lord? My quarters are nearby, and I was about to enjoy refreshments if you would care to join me."

Undeniably flirting, encouraged by his reactions, and he wanted to laugh that this Shukoro could possibly think to rival Ichigo in any way. He lowered his eyes, trying for the false modesty of a coquette, knowing it would look silly when his skin was painted with evidence of his complete lack of innocence. This was not so different than the act of authority he had been taught. Sometimes an obvious lie spoke more truth to both sides.

"I'm afraid I have a prior engagement. Perhaps you would offer again tomorrow?"

He could see it now, the calculation when he looked up into the cold eyes above the practiced smile. He did not try to smile back, opting instead for playing naïve fool, head canted down to look up through his lashes.

"Gladly, my lord."

And he shivered again as his hand was taken, raised, kissed lightly in a manner that could not be considered offensive from a king's son to a royal mistress, though he certainly felt offended and barely resisted the urge to wipe his hand on his pants before turning to hurry away as if flustered. A dangerous game, but if he was right about this man's identity, then this was all a seduction with sinister purpose, and he would not be the loser at the end.

ooooooooooOOOOOOOOOOoooooooooo

Rich, polished wood carved in familiar tribal patterns swung away from her palm, surprisingly easy and quiet for such a heavy looking door. The sitting room was empty, table still littered with the remains of a meal. One of the black-clad and half-masked guards pulled the door shut behind her as she crept forward. They hadn't said a word when they had refused to move from in front of the doors the three times she had come; they hadn't said a word the fourth time as they stepped aside.

It was overwhelming, the sense of dread that had kept Tatsuki awake most of the night and well into the day. Yoruichi had been right, though she had thought herself quite adept at hiding her feelings for Orihime after all these years. But it wasn't just heartache and jealousy. Her princess was a gentle soul, an innocent. The prince was the opposite. The man had treated her dear friend kindly enough, respectfully enough, and she had seen how the prince had rushed to the aid of the white-haired young man with seemingly genuine tenderness. That gave her some small hope.

A faint, melodic chiming was the only sound as she entered the bedroom, and she deliberately added weight to her steps and cleared her throat, praying to every god that she would not find the man still here, in the curtained bed, with her Hime.

"Ichigo?"

She winced as the hopeful tone of the sweet and quiet voice sharpened the envy, the small, sharp needle in her heart. At least, she thought, Hime wouldn't be calling out to him that way if he had hurt her.

"Orihime, it's me."

A quick rustling of cloth and then the dusky purple curtains were being yanked apart. With a sigh of relief, her eyes examine her friend. The silk robe is loosely tied, draping off one shoulder and leaving those beautiful breasts barely decent. All the skin she can see between strands of red is pale and pristine. She cannot say the same for the disheveled bed, the tangled hair, the overall image one that twists that needle again.

"Tatsuki! Oh, Tatsuki, I'm so happy to see you! I've got so much to tell you. And the presents, wait until you see! I haven't even opened them all yet, I've haven't had the time, but this one, it's called a music box, look!"

She tried to seem like she didn't notice the brief flash of confusion and hurt when she resisted the hands trying to pull her into the bed, turning instead to look at the litter of invaluable gifts strewn about on the nightstand, the chair, the floor like so much trash. Her hands were released, and after an awkward moment Orihime had scooted to the edge of the bed, a box of nearly black wood inlayed with iridescent butterflies in various colors that she held out, big eyes and shy smile of uncertainty drowning most of her jealousy with a wave of guilt.

"It's beautiful, Hime."

"Open it!"

She did, and was immediately fascinated by the chiming music she had heard when she first walked in. She stared at the tiny pieces of metal, the slowly whirling cylinder covered with tiny bumps, and listened to the tune. It was an old tune, traditional, telling a bittersweet legend of a warrior who dies for love. It was rather amazing that such a song was popular in this kingdom.

In the tribes, women had few choices. Daughters born to leaders rarely had any choice, raised in seclusion and traded for power, wealth, alliances. Those raised more freely could still be assigned value only as wives and breeders, or they could declare themselves warriors. Training started later for girls unless their fathers supported the choice and trained their daughter themselves. And if the girl succeeded, learned to fight, she could lead a life as free as any man.

There wasn't much romance in the tribe, not for the women. Tatsuki had made the only choice she could, wanting nothing at all to do with any husband. As a warrior, she would even have been allowed to indulge with other female warriors as lovers, it was not uncommon. There certainly weren't any love songs in her future, having fallen in love with the equivalent of tribal royalty, now royalty in truth. But she smiled anyway for Orihime's sake, appreciating the beauty of the little box and the cleverness of it even if the song only echoed dulled grief.

"Tatsuki, are you okay?"

"What? Of course I am!" Shame on her for making her friend worry about her after Orihime's whole life had been turned upside down in a day and a night. "I mean, I'm kinda pissed that you've been without me all day." And thank all the gods she was given her own room. If she'd had to sleep in the adjacent servant's room on Orihime's wedding night . . . "I mean, has anyone been taking care of you? Have you eaten? You must be starving. I should draw a bath and order some food. And change the sheets."

She trailed off, embarrassed, barely able to look at the blush on peach cheeks.

"No . . . I mean, I'm not hungry, I've eaten . . . um, Ichigo took care of everything. We had breakfast and lunch and took a bath . . ."

More blushing, and she held back a wince. She should be happy, since it was obvious her princess was not only not hurt, but quite content and cared for.

"Um, I should get ready for dinner, I guess. Maybe it's too early. We could open presents together?"

Orihime sounded so hopeful, and she pushed back sadness and jealousy again, grinning with genuine excitement. If that musical box was anything to go by . . .

"Yes! Yes, let's do that. There are so many!"

"This is only some of them."

The girl . . . the woman now, a princess, slid over to the edge of the bed, tightening the silk sash on the beautiful dressing gown of spring green with pink flowers. But she turned back into a little girl as she bounded the two steps to the table laden with gifts.

"Horses, Tatsuki! 14 of them! You need to choose a couple for yourself, Ichigo said I could to whatever I wanted with them and all of it. We could go to the stable together!"

That certainly cheered her up. Her family loaned her a horse when she was with the tribe, but she'd had to leave the gelding behind. Having a horse was as essential to a tribesman as having a knife. She joined her friend tearing the wrapping from something big, revealing a cut crystal statue of the goddess of fortune, gilded with gold and hoisting a diamond the size of an egg overhead. But she had to ask, turning to her friend with a smile that she hoped hid her anxiety over the answer.

"Orihime, are you truly happy? Is he good to you?"

Pale, delicate fingers brushed over the wings of the goddess, and the bright smile relaxed into something so soft and tender that it hurt her heart even as it eased her fears.

"Oh, Tatsuki. I can't even tell you how wonderful he is."

"Good." That was it, then. Now she should let go, bury her last hope for herself and celebrate the hopes of her friend. "Good. I'm so happy for you, Hime."

ooooooooooOOOOOOOOOOoooooooooo

The click of the lock sent a shudder through her. Rukia had never been locked in before. No matter what they did to her, she'd never tried to run. Until last night. Being dressed in silk and draped in jewels, she had known it couldn't be good news. Having to stand so close to the repulsive Nnoitra was almost enough to ruin the awe of seeing the royal wedding. And through it all, she knew, she was being advertised for sale.

"Couldn't you stay clean for just one day? Worthless cur."

A gesture sent the two big men forward, and she knew she would not be able to do much to deter them. She sneered at the wariness in their approach.

"I won't do it. You can't force me; I'm a citizen! I'll bite his dick off!"

The usual protests were shouted between trying to duck under the big hands reaching for her, then clawing a few deep furrows in one meaty arm. A hard palm slammed into her sternum just hard enough to make her breath leave in a whoosh as she doubled over in pain, and she was dragged back upright, reeling.

"Stop being . . . you. We don't have time to make her look good, girls, if it's even possible. Do what you can in two minutes. He wants her right away."

She would have screeched and fought at that, but gods did they know just how to cause agony and just how to pull her head back to amplify the pain in her chest so she couldn't do anything but focus on moving air in and out.

"Honestly, you don't deserve this, mongrel."

The insults continued while her hair was brushed, oil with flecks of real gold taming and slicking down the black locks that had been thoroughly cleaned and trimmed the day before. She was stripped out of the plain white dress and put into another fine silken thing, no thought given to her modesty in front of the guards. And just as the pain started to let her move and think, she was being bustled down the hall, one of the guards pushing her forward with both her wrists behind her back in his big, sweaty hand.

"No!"

The attempt to scream made her cough, and it felt like she had been punched again. She was shoved through a door, released to stumble and fall to her knees on plush carpeting. The bitch's simpering voice was followed by the closing door and then silence, her parting words sinking in.

"Here is the girl you requested, Your Royal Highness. The master of the house will be with you shortly."

Royal Highness? No! It couldn't be!

She stared at the floor, not daring to look. It was all over. There were no laws that bound the prince and the king. Maybe, if she was the daughter of some noble house, he might treat her well to avoid trouble, but she was nobody, an orphan of peasants, nameless. The only person who cared about her was just as powerless as she, and Hisana had no idea where Rukia was, she had made sure of it.

"Come, girl, let me take a look at you."

A flash of impotent fury made her look up, fizzling out as her fears were confirmed. He was lounging in one of the gaudy chairs dripping with gold brocade, his stark black with blood red embellishments standing out against the overdone finery around him. One second meeting the brown eyes intently analyzing her was all she could take, gaze dropping back to the floor with a shudder. She recalled seeing the prince's lover, a young man very slight in stature, every visible inch of skin below his jaw covered with livid bruises. Not just the typical marks some lovers liked to show off, but a black and purple under the fine silver and green covering his neck, red rings turning to blue around his wrists.

"I am not accustomed to repeating myself. Stand up, girl, and come here."

What could she do but chant prayers to every god she had ever heard of as she stood? A deep breath, and she forced the trembling to stop as she looked again. The admonishment was not spoken in an angry tone, but his frown was enough to make the prayers stutter to a stop, even her mind not able to do more than whimper.

"Thought you said she was spirited, Renji. Or is it just me?"

She finally noticed the figure standing behind the prince's chair, and her mouth dropped open as she took in the ridiculous red hair, overabundance of tattoos, and comical expression, the pervert chewing on one side of his bottom lip and looking back and forth between her and the back of the orange head with the sort of panic you might see on the face of a naughty toddler hoping dad won't whip him and casting pleading puppy eyes at mom.

" _You_ ," she growled, "this is all your fault, isn't it? Rude, disgusting _pervert_. Can't you just leave me alone!"

A bark of laughter brought reality back, and she fell to her knees again with a gasp, bowing all the way down to the floor. It would be a good thing, wouldn't it, if she pissed him off enough to just kill her? But Rukia didn't want to die, not before she could see her sister again.

"No, apparently he can't. Now I can see why. You're quite the cute little thing, and I like a bit of fire in my lovers." There was a strange noise, how she'd imagine a drowning dragon might sound, not that she'd ever heard a dragon, drowning or not. "You okay, Renji? Drink something, that'll help. Then get the midget and keep her out of the way."

"Who are you calling midget!"

The words just spat themselves out, her head lifting to glare before she could stop it. It wouldn't do any good to apologize. No, she wouldn't apologize. He didn't deserve her remorse, even faked.

"Gods, Rukia, do you have a death wish?"

"Don't touch me, you sick bastard."

Dragged again, off to the side some ten paces away from where the prince sat. The tall redhead was every bit as strong as the bulky guards, though he wasn't a hulking mass of muscle and fat. No, he was the perfect image of a desert fighter, hard and lean, tanned and scarred. She tried to wriggle free, red-faced with rage, embarrassment, and something more. She couldn't help it, couldn't help how her body reacted every time she saw the big idiot, fierce-looking but goofy, gruff but with a sharp tongue to match hers. And it only pissed her off more to find that she had, for just one stupidly hormonal moment, forgotten all about the deadly prince who was likely going to make her life a nightmare.

An already horrible situation got immeasurably worse when the door opened again, the lanky form of her "Master" walking in with that creepy smile that made her ache to kick the too big, too white teeth. Renji held her forearm in a vice grip but she'd stopped struggling. This was it, her contract was about to be sold to a man who could tear her apart and leave her broken corpse at the foot of the throne and no one would lift a finger to stop him, no guardsman or judge or king would think once about trying to punish him for abusing or killing a common-born citizen slave.

She looked on, somewhere between shock and despair, as the arrogant and power-hungry master bowed in his own home. That, at least, was a sweet sight.

"Mighty prince, you honor my humble house."

"Lord Gilga, how could I resist such a charming invitation?"

Two lechers shared a smirk, the master's slanted eyes sneaking a glance at her, greed in every line of him, as usual.

"May I assume my dread lord refers to my petite treasure there? I admit it did occur to me that she would make a handsome set with your mistress."

"Set with my Toshiro? I hardly think she's royal mistress material. A mistress maybe, a dalliance more likely. Certainly not a bearer of royal children. I understand she's not even a wage-earning whore. She's basically a drudge here, is that right, Renji?"

She winced, not at the prince's harsh words so much as the tightening of the already bruising grip on her arm. She smacked the offending hand, glaring up and wondering why the tattooed face was pale and strangely wiped of emotion.

"Unfortunate circumstances involving a botched contract, my good prince. An extra advantage I should think, should you enjoy breaking in inexperienced and feisty toys."

"And exactly what about me makes you think I have such interests?"

Suddenly, with those soft and seemingly casual words, the tension in the room soared. Nnoitra's eyes narrowed, his grin faltering for a mere second as he visibly tried to analyze the correct thing to say. She was keen to hear the rest of this conversation, though she was sure she'd get to know the prince's preferences in uncomfortable detail very soon. She had never attempted to run away, not even when the Madame tried to persuade her to cooperate by tying her up naked in the courtyard, which had been much worse for her than any beating, the 'clients' taking their time ridiculing her. No one wanted a tiny, boyish girl. Why would the prince? Why else but some sort of fetish, as proven by the beaten and bruised little white-haired boy?

"I merely mean to highlight the merchandise, my future king, in terms I, a lowly provider of pleasures, understand."

"You should come to court more often, my lord. Well, how much to buy out her contract, and how long is left?"

"This one owes me four more years and three months, and she has not earned a single coin toward her debt."

"Oh? Rukia, did you keep the gold I gave you for yourself?"

She stared up at the buffoon who grinned down at her, incredulous. How dare these men talk about such insignificant things when her life was on the line?

"How much?"

"Her contract was for seven hundred."

"Liar!"

The toothy grin became a frown, but she didn't have anything to lose, anyway. Maybe it was stupid of her. Maybe a higher price tag would make her worth something since obviously _she_ wasn't worth anything.

"How much did you receive, Rukia?"

The voice was firm, businesslike, but he looked at her almost kindly. A trick, she was sure.

"Thirty-two in payment of my debt to the healer, highness, my sister was very sick. One hundred to the healer for future services, and one hundred clear."

"Two hundred thirty-two!" She hated that Renji had a nice smile, even when it was at her expense. "For the Rose? You got cheated, Rukia."

"That's because it was a contract for labor, not prostitution, you dolt."

"How did you manage that?"

The prince sounded sincerely intrigued, while the master looked like he was chewing a lemon. Good, anything she could do to cause him harm.

"There are good agents where you can get a fair contract, highness, I'm sure you know. The less honest ones look for desperate people. Merchants and even healers will tell them when someone owes a lot of money. They're thugs, mostly. If you don't take a deal, they'll beat you, rape you, take or destroy your home or whatever you have, and they'll keep coming back until you sign or pay off your debt; either way, they get paid. The one I got couldn't read. He thought he'd intimidated me into signing, and he let me edit some clauses. I told him I was just changing who the money got paid to."

The prince listened intently, smirking at the red-faced Nnoitra while the man still holding her arm laughed outright. She was really in hot water now. If the prince took her, gods know how bad her life would be. If he didn't take her, Nnoitra would skin her alive, citizen rights be damned.

"Well. Two hundred seems fair to take her off your hands, and I won't argue about the nine months of free labor you got from her."

"Now, my generous prince, consider the costs of keeping unskilled labor . . ."

"Not going to mention how he tried to swindle you, either? That's a bit too generous, Ichigo. Especially since you could simply void the contract. Guess he thinks you're an idiot."

The long face flushed red, and she relished the tremble of impotent anger, hoping there was more than a little fear as the prince stood, adjusting his clothes and hand going to the hilt of his sword seemingly to straighten it. But the next words made her heart sink again. It seemed the vile bastard would get away with it while she was carted off to a fate worse than death.

"You have my word, two hundred will be delivered to Madame Cirucci the moment we're back at the palace."

The pervert next to her tensed and she looked away from the prince for just an instant, looked up at the suddenly deadly serious expression on the tattooed face for a mere heartbeat. The harsh hiss of metal, the surprised shout ending as suddenly as it began, sounds that did not register until days or seconds later, long after her head swung back to see the thick red drawn in a graceful arch by the black blade, heavy line thinning, breaking into drops into mist that splattered gold brocade with glistening rubies.

It was a thing of nightmares, the tall body swaying before crumpling in slow motion, hitting the ruined carpet in a boneless sprawl a good while after the oddly clean and alive-looking head, eyes wide, big teeth parted around that final, undignified squawk. She didn't so much as blink, taking in the wonderful truth with tingling joy, feeling the ache in her cheeks from a genuine smile.

That was, until a shiny black boot stepped into the growing pool of blood, the tall figure leaning down, black blade smearing red onto the white coat of her master's corpse. There was no expression at all on the killer's face,so casually chopping a man's head off in his own parlor. And now he owned her, this man with faint disdain and sick amusement in his voice.

"Couldn't even grovel properly."

"Ugh, _my dread lord_ , really? Who says shit like that?"

Both sets of brown eyes turned toward her as her hand slapped over her mouth, too late to muffle an inelegant snort. It wasn't funny, none of it was funny, and yet she couldn't stop the hysterical laughter. It was just . . . all that effort, all her defiance and the punishments and now he was just lying there, bleeding on the rug he had once made her comb out with a tiny brush. Hours of it, and he had kicked her when her fingers bled, a tiny droplet staining right there, where his severed head leaked red thick and slick, never to be clean again.

ooooooooooOOOOOOOOOOoooooooooo

Once, in her youth, the healer had believed in gods. When she lived as a happy child with loving parents, even when one of those parents died of illness, when she had married a decent man and then fallen in love with her husband, when she'd had her son and fallen in love all over again, she believed in gods. They were simple gods, ancient gods, gods without form and often without name. Gods and goddesses of seasons and crops, of hearth and childbirth, of death and misfortune, a deity for each important and unexplained event.

Perhaps the priests were right, and suffering was merely a test of faith. If so, she had failed. Any god who had not listened to her pleas was no longer worth her regard.

Ironic, then, that some swore she had holy healing powers. She could not save every patient, but she had brought many back from the threshold of death. Many of her assistants were from holy orders, and the chanted prayers and wasted offerings no doubt aided the false conclusion. Prayer was useful. It kept the mind off other things, such as pain and despair, and she never stopped her patients, their kin, or her assistants from rambling or singing to invisible benefactors.

"Shut the fuck up. And get that shit outta my face. What's wrong with you? You think that's good for her lungs? Some fuckin' healers."

She smiled at the two women and gestured for them to leave, agreeing with the sentiments personally if not entirely. They would call themselves healers, and she did find them useful if only for managing cleanliness, bandages, and morale for believers. Her smile sent them both scampering, and the fierce looking warrior fell silent again, looking a little lost.

Once, in her middle age, the healer had believed in nothing. She had wandered beyond the desert, seeking some reason other than revenge to continue. What she had found was not what she expected.

"What's that?"

A young Unohana would have snapped 'None of your business,' but she only continued the mild strokes of the brush over the bandages covering every inch of the girl's skin and turned her smile toward the arrogant and angry blue eyes. Not only angry as they slipped away from hers, but worried and confused and angry again to be worried and confused. Not used to caring about anything but himself, she could read him like a book.

"Why won't she wake up? She was in better shape when I dropped her off."

She sighed. "Sleep is good for healing. As is silence."

The faint growl and the glare did not intimidate her. This pup was all bark, at least with those he did not face with a sword. There were few rumors that did not reach her ears. She had heard enough about Grimmjow to know he was a killer, but he was obviously not up to the challenge of facing an intelligent woman. Typical. She didn't even bat an eye when he got up and stormed out. The hotheaded warrior may win the title of Kenpachi, but she doubted he could hold it.

Her attention turned back to her patient, Momo, her name the only thing he would share about her. Alone as she had wished to be, she set her hands on the damp bandages, one over the heart exhausted from trying to move thick blood through the dehydrated body, the other curving to hover above the forehead burnt and cracked under the linen.

A faint light slowly built under her hands, spreading a green glow, streaks of luminescence twisting through the bandages and soaking into the skin below.

Once, when she thought her life was no longer worth the effort, the healer had discovered a new faith. Practices and knowledge out of legend, forgotten by the world, except for there, beyond the frozen mountains in the fair green country from which traveler's never returned. It was not much, even in Reiokyu the skills had nearly died. But it was enough to give her purpose.

It was not for this girl, or the hundreds of others she had healed beyond what medicines could. It was for herself, to learn and become stronger each time she refined her limited magic. Knowledge for the sake of knowledge, art for the sake of art. It was the tiny, dry kernel of her humanity, given a single drop of water each time her eyes widened in wonder.

Beneath her hands, the aura of disease and damage retreated, heart strengthening and slowing, breath losing the rough rasp. There was barely a slit in the bandages, a sighed breath, moist and nearly healthy.

"Toshiro . . ."

It was not often she was surprised, and she lost the concentration required, the light snuffed out in an instant. The girl was not fully healed, but quite close, not worth the energy required to start again. And Unohana was not sure it would be wise to finish.

She owed Hueco Mundo and its ruler nothing other than service in exchange for position and autonomy. There was no loyalty. And yet, she was content with the stability of her life, the freedom to practice her science and her art, the time to teach Hanataro or find another who could learn the rarest of skills.

Then came a young man with a far deeper story than the one he told. She had seen the bright eyes, the pale hair, the ethereal aura. Never had she seen such outside of Reiokyu, and she knew the boy would bring trouble and unrest, but he was the chosen mistress of the prince. Now this, another foreigner, and she was torn. One or both of these newcomers may change everything she knew, or they may both fade into the bloody tapestry of Las Noches.

Her eye went to the sharp scalpel on the table nearby. She could make it nearly painless, now, before the girl awoke. She could protect what peace she had found, protect the life she had come to value, at the cost of one waif who would not have survived without her.

ooooooooooOOOOOOOOOOoooooooooo

One thing Rangiku loved to do was flirt. It was a professional skill, but more than that. She had always enjoyed being desired, lingering stares like caresses, the power that came with desire. In a kingdom of murderers in uniform and murderers under crowns, there was a surprising amount of safety in being desired. She could be hurt and killed as a political maneuver against Gin, or against her family if she had one worth threatening. She could be punished for insulting the wrong person. But she could flirt to her heart's content and walk the streets of the higher districts stark naked without fearing a single touch without her consent, knowing her own knife would be joined by the swords of every man and woman in sight if anyone dared. It was a rule set in stone in a culture where sex was both common and sacred.

The admiration as she glided confidently thorough the palace was nearly as flattering as the offers that would come after her departure. A simple stroll through the park would often bring a dozen new customers asking for invitations to the Crowned Serpent, and even a few more personal offers to buy out her contract. She was sought as a mistress, even as a wife, but by no one in the top echelons of power until now. That's if Yumi was right about Gin's intentions.

The terrified glances of the timid, short, slight, plain healer's boy were not nearly as enjoyable. She had to boss him around again just to get a glass of wine, and she settled to read the cards and letters on the table of presents, certain this was exactly why Toshiro had sent for her.

"And _when_ did you say he'd be back?" He hadn't. "I have things to do, you know."

"I . . . I don't know, my lady." _My lady_ , she snickered behind her hand. "He j-just went for a . . . for a walk."

"Uh-huh. Two hours ago. Maybe you should go look for him. I mean, not much of a servant if you don't know where your master is."

"I'm not a servant." The kid snapped, and she eyed him until he was blushing and stuttering again. "I-I'm and apprentice he-healer."

She drew her breath to tease some more while she read an invitation to dinner with none other than Ikkaku's father, a retired general and quite influential. That went into the 'accept' pile. Then she heard the door and popped to her feet. She planned to treat him as informally as he allowed, but from the moment she had opened that jewelry case to see a treasure trove of emeralds, she was very much aware that the chained and traumatized little boy who had tried to hold his dignity close in the face of fear and disgrace was now as far above her as the stars.

Testing the waters, she gave him a playful wink along with a proper bow. "My lord."

"Oh, please, Ran. Not from you. I need some friends here, if you are willing."

She squealed, bounced on her feet, and then jumped forward to hug him. She thought she was being gentle, considerate of his wounds and soreness, so she didn't know why he was smacking her ribs and then pushing harshly against her. Hell, men paid a lot to have their face where his was.

"Oh, Toshiro," she released him to stagger to her chair and collapse, gasping, such a drama queen, "I brought your costume for tomorrow. Guess you don't have to worry about a gift for Yumi, now. I should have thought of it. Well, I haven't had many royal mistresses for friends, have I? How was I supposed to know you'd be instantly loaded. Some jewelry would do. These rubies, maybe. What was Kirio thinking, must have let a servant pick those earrings. Red may be the prince's color but it's definitely not yours. Did you bring me here to help? I figured that's why. I started sorting your invitations. As if you'd bother with some of these, just trying to get your attention before you know who's who."

"Ran . . ."

"Now these – Madarame, Abarai, Kuchiki, Hikifune. You might ask your prince about Senjumaru, that's a risky one."

"Ran!"

"Show this bracelet off soon. Baraggan's a dirty old pervert, but he's a powerful one and he doesn't give out gifts lightly. His people will be watching for it."

"Ran! Oh, for crying out loud. Hanataro, could you get some cold water? I'm not feeling well."

"What? What! Toshiro, what's wrong? You didn't eat any of the sweets here, did you? Never trust food gifts. It's pathetic to fall for simple poisoning. People always try that first with a new favorite anything, even in the whorehouse."

"No, no. I haven't touched it. I'm just still worn out," that is, sore from the roughest first time she'd seen in quite a while, not to mention the attempted murder by Kenpachi.

"You have a fever! Hanataro, doesn't he?"

"I'm fine. Stop fussing."

Then the coughing started with the second drink of cool water. The pale face was flushed with more than just the simple exertion of a walk and a little time in the sun.

"Toshiro," she let the little healer push her out of the way, the kid showing some backbone again as he questioned the now concerned looking, "did you eat or drink anything while you were out?"

"Just water." More coughing and shaking fingers scratched at the blackened throat, "always from Izuru, the guard."

She was already pulling open the door, calling in the guard, questioning the source of the water. The blonde was insisting that the water was clean, carried by him the entire time, when Toshiro interrupted. Already, the flush in his cheeks was shading to dark red, breathing becoming harsh.

"The spice . . . saffron, was it saffron?"

"A popular spice, my lord, not dangerous." realization dawned on the guard's face, and horror. "He kissed you."

"What? Who?"

"Where?" Hanataro sounded like a different person, focused, commanding, in his element.

"His hand. Senjumaru Shukuro kissed the back of his right hand."

"Get Unohana. Tell her it's the prince's mistress. Tell her Great Weave Spider. Run!"

The healer grabbed the small wrist and examined Toshiro's hand.

"No. He touched . . ." Toshiro turned his hand, revealing the bright red spot in the palm.

"And . . . my neck."

Struggling to speak, collapsing forward he lifted his left hand to brush the bruised neck above the bright silver of the collar. Hanataro pushed Toshiro back, pushing his shoulders against the chair and firmly lifting the chin until wincing turquoise eyes were looking up at the ceiling.

"You." She jumped. "Keep his head back."

She moved forward to take the healer's place. He grabbed a fine silk scarf from the gift pile and dunked a fistful of it into her wine glass, then shoved it at her.

"Wipe his neck, then his hand. Keep doing it, new part of the cloth every stroke. Don't touch any part of the cloth that has touched him. You, guard," the too-beautiful desert warrior stared wide-eyed, "get a bowl of fresh water, more cloths. And take off his collar, careful, the poison might be on the collar, too."

The last instructions were shouted over his shoulder as the healer rushed to a cabinet by the desk where she had seen him place bandages and medications earlier. She did as she was told, the guard did as told, neither saying a word. Toshiro's breaths were erratic now, his free hand clutching at her arm as she wiped his palm, then his neck, and she heard his teeth grinding, certain he would be screaming if not for his strong will.

Where was the royal healer? Hadn't the guard been sent for her ages ago? Surely it couldn't have only been seconds, mere second to go from speaking and walking to barely being able to breath, body stretched taut in pain. He was dying, Toshiro was dying, quickly.

The young healer returned, pushing her hand away with his gloved hand, smearing something bitter-smelling on Toshiro's neck, then taking his hand from her and rubbing the yellow-green substance onto the reddened skin. The gloves were stripped off and tossed well under the table. The healer's hand ran over the sweaty brow, down the red cheek.

"Stay with me, my love. Stay with me."

It was so quiet, not meant for her ears, and maybe she mistook _my lord_ for _my love_. He heard it, the beautiful young man who lived a life he never asked for, who was, she suspected, just as sick for an unattainable heart as the one who whispered against his cheek. The once smooth voice was faint as Toshiro tried to respond to the only one who could possibly call him _my love_.

"Ichigo . . ."

No, she had not heard wrong; the pain on the apprentice's face was nearly as piercing as the physical agony Toshiro was fighting. Poor boy. There was not the least chance his affections would lead to anything but disaster, and yet he was trapped here so very close to the object of those affections. She could not help but think of Gin. Was it this painful for him, wanting her and telling himself not to want her?

She dropped the cloth carefully onto the floor away from her feet. Though, if the healer didn't come soon, she may just rub the scarf all over her skin. Death by poison would be better than what Prince Ichigo was likely to do to anyone who was here and failed to save Toshiro.

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* * *

Thanks once again _**DenIchi Hitsugaya**_ and _**Beebo85**_ for your steadfast support, and everyone who has read this far! Long chapters are the only way I'm ever going to get to the end of this one. I remember when I started _Something New_ , I didn't like it much. Now I really enjoy writing it, probably why I get so caught up in details. Go figure.


	30. The Path of Vengeance

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 **Chapter 30**

 **The Path of Vengeance**

 _The lion cannot protect himself from traps, and the fox cannot defend himself from wolves.  
One must therefore be a fox to recognize traps, and a lion to frighten the wolves._

 _~Niccolò Machiavelli_

* * *

"She's up to something."

"When isn't she?"

"Yeah, but something big. The son of hers has been around a lot, and she keeps kicking me out of my own room so I won't overhear anything. I had to sleep in the general quarters last night, not that I'm complaining. At least no one shrieked at me in the middle of the night just to hand them the water glass that's right on the nightstand."

There were far fewer advantages to being servant to the favorite mistress than one might expect. She was envied by the morons beneath her, sometimes even after they had seen how badly she was treated by her mistress. She was pitied by those who knew the truth, and that was much worse. Better quarters, better clothes, a slight amount of influence over servants, very few advantages to make putting up with Shutara a little easier.

"Last time she was so secretive, that new girl killed herself, remember? The one that looked like her but younger and less . . . evil?"

"Masae. Pissed the bitch off seeing another high noble mistress, and Masae was beautiful and pregnant. She picked the king, crazy bitch, with the support of her family. Killed herself, yeah right."

"Well, at least you get some free time. Wonder who'll die for it? My money's on the princess."

"That's what I like about you, Menoly. You're even more morbid than I am."

She looked down the dimly-lit hallway toward the princess's chambers, all quiet at the moment though she could see guards and calm activity farther down by the room of the prince's lover. A man. A pretty, young, delicate man, of all things.

The servants' stairway in the prince's wing had become a favorite haunt. There was no reason for them to be there, which meant it was unlikely anyone would look for them, a little peace. Not to mention this was the place to be to catch any good gossip lately.

"Actually, I kinda like the princess. So far, anyway."

"Whatever. They can all go hang."

"Not wise to say such things in public."

By the time she had whirled with a knife in her hand, Menoly had already yanked the man's head down, arm wrapped around his neck and small knife pressed to his pulse. She didn't recognize him, plain clothes, plain brown hair cut short, plain hazel eyes with a hint of washed-out green. Nut-brown skin and a wide, fat nose with a deep scar across it were the only remarkable features on an otherwise plain face. The man didn't fight, hands hanging loose and open as a faint chuckle broke through the thundering of her panicked heart.

"Kill him. Kill him, Menoly!"

The things they had said earned worse than a death sentence.

"Now, ladies, no need for such hostility. Besides, Menoly, your dear mother would weep, have some compassion."

"What the fuck are you doing here, Yuuto?"

"You know him? Wait, who fucking cares! Just hold him, I'll kill him if you can't."

In less time than it took the man to sigh, the lax arm hanging close to Menoly's legs had moved, effortlessly sweeping her legs backward so that she fell forward. His head swung back, just a hint of bright blood on his neck. And she had no idea how the knife ended up in the man's other hand, no chance to see it happen as Menoly crashed into her.

A completely different man stood over them as she helped her only friend to her feet. Gone was the casual, almost clumsy movement, gone the vague, airheaded aura. She was used to intimidating men and women, surrounded by those who could kill without batting an eye, not to mention she had been face-to-face daily with the slimy, devious bitch. And yet, she found herself glad to have Menoly between her and the radiating threat in tense muscles and sinister glare. Another monster, and this one held their lives in his hands in more ways than one. But there were no other witnesses to their treasonous words.

Just as suddenly, the sharp point of Menoly's knife was flipped and caught between long fingers. The grin was back, ridiculously wide to show off big teeth, but more genuine and calculating as he offered the knife back to Menoly.

"Ladies. Caretakers to royal bitches, are you not? Shutara and Ran-Tao, both survivors of the long game. Are you hoping to survive as long? If so, perhaps we could share a drink and discuss . . ."

Shouting stopped whatever the strange man was about to propose, and he moved quickly, silently, vanishing before her eyes into the shadows of the stairwell. She and Menoly had no time at all to react before a guard she recognized was pelting by, an instant of eye contact and he was gone.

Her heart took another shock when the stranger reappeared. She was staring right at the dark wall where he wasn't, and he faded in like some kinda ghost. _Impossible_. Menoly backed away wide-eyed, too, as dark tendrils of shadow clung to him and broke as he stepped forward, becoming real again.

"Oh, dear. Shame that guard spotted you here at such a time. Ladies, might I suggest you go to the young princess's chamber and let her know that the prince's little pet is in dire straits? Oh, and a gift for you, pretty Loly. Use it wisely."

She stared at the tiny vial, just a few drops of smokey liquid encased in fragile glass.

"Don't!"

Too late, Menoly had already reached for it while she stood frozen, and she cringed to see it in her friend's vulnerable fingers while the creepy ghost seemed to step backward right into the wall, gone as if he'd never been. She scrambled to pull off her sleeve, ripping the fabric in her panic, and held out the white cloth.

"Give it here. Careful! Dammit, Menoly, why did you take it?"

"Would you calm down? What is it?"

Her voice dropped to a whisper. Talking about members of the royal family dying was bad enough. She didn't want anyone to hear her answer as she wrapped the bit of glass carefully.

"Poison. Enough to kill twenty or more."

"Bullshit. How would you know that?"

"Because, there's only one family that can make this. There's a reason the Senjumaru family crest is a spider."

How could that man get this? Why would he give it away when it was worth a fortune and possession of it would get him killed? Why give it to her? To set her up? How could she get rid of it?

"You go tell the princess. I've got to find someplace to hide this."

"No, you come with me. I don't know what that creep is up to but being seen helping and having an alibi might count for something."

ooooooooooOOOOOOOOOOoooooooooo

"I said everyone out."

Though the words were quiet, she tensed, feeling the weight of the soft command. This woman was imposing, even facing away from her, intent on the frighteningly still form on the bed. Though the healer hadn't glanced at her, she drew herself up.

"Toshiro is a member of my household. I am responsible for him."

"Hanataro."

The young man looked a wreck, nervous and obviously on the edge of weeping. Yet he obeyed the unspoken command, moving toward her to escort her out the door. This would soon get ugly if she didn't just leave with some dignity. She tried to see beyond the stooping figure in white, catching just a glimpse of the delicate face red and contorted in pain.

"Please . . . let me help, please."

A strangled scream and the healer leaned forward, fighting the convulsing body. Hanataro, too hesitant to dare touch royalty and force her away, rushed to help while she stood wide-eyed and pushing down terror for the young man she had only begun to know but already felt fondness for. Fear would not help, and she forced her feet to move, regaining her confidence with every step to the end of the bed.

She saw the perfectly calm face of the healer turn toward her as she crawled up on the bed, felt the heat radiating off the tense and fighting muscles of the injured man. Kneeling beside him, she started to put her hands up on his shoulders to help hold him still.

"Stop, girl. Do not touch him."

Both of them wore gloves all the way up to their elbows, supple scales like a large snake but the gleaming metallic hues proclaiming it dragonskin. She watched as Hanataro leaned all his weight down, one arm across Toshiro's chest, the other across hips, while the healer moved quickly, pulling up one hand after the other and clasping silver handcuffs around small wrists, chains already secured to the headboard. She blushed as the healer pulled the chains tighter and had to concentrate to stop herself from thinking about the significance of the chains and all those rings, the mirrors, the marks all over the pale skin . . ..

"Now, do not touch his neck or his hands, understand? Even then you are not safe. Pull your sleeves down, always keep cloth between you and him. The toxin absorbs directly through skin, you will be at risk even if you are careful. Do you still wish to help?"

The woman's voice was strange, almost dispassionate and yet somehow soothing, perhaps just in the cool assurance. Her eyes were even stranger, seemingly placid at first, then unnervingly empty, devoid of any emotion at all even as she felt she was being analyzed and judged.

Orihime drew in her breath. She had been bullied and silenced for years, never allowed to do anything worthwhile, never able to assert herself even to something simple like help someone. And now the young man who had risked his life against her guardian, who had so staunchly supported her against the king's household needed her help. The healer could be as intimidating as she liked.

"I'm ready. Tell me what to do."

ooooooooooOOOOOOOOOOoooooooooo

It was a risk letting the princess stay, but one that she immediately weighed and judged worth it. If the boy died, the prince could hardly have her flayed alive if the princess was witness and party to the treatment. With that insurance in place, she found herself once again tempted to let a patient die. The foreign girl still breathed, her decision unmade when the urgent summons had arrived.

While she had made a choice not to believe in fate, fate seemed not to have extended the same courtesy to her. This was only the latest, and she sighed, resigned to keeping the prince's captive mistress and the mysterious girl who seemed to know him alive.

When the prince rushed into the room, Abarai and some small girl at his heels, she thanked her intuition. The presence of his new wife surprised him, and she could see the banking of the fiery temper, mouth parted for angry words and imperious demands slowly closing.

It was a greater risk to move the boy to the infirmary, but she had given up the idea of killing him so that really only left one option. As he was now, the boy would survive. But the damage was extensive. He could be wholly or partially paralyzed, the venom targeting and destroying the nerves that controlled bodily movement and function. Pretty as the boy was, as besotted as the royal couple apparently was, that would leave only two outcomes. He would be kept like an object, a fate worse than death in Hueco Mundo, a thing to be cared for and pitied. Or, much more likely, the prince himself would kill the boy as would be expected.

She had seen enough cases of whole and partial paralysis. There was no benefit to her in letting the boy suffer through that. But she had never had a chance to try to repair such extensive nerve trauma through magic, and the more she thought of it, the more anxious she was to try. It certainly wouldn't harm her reputation. No one had ever survived this particular venom, not without their body in ruins.

And so, the now sedated patient was taken first to the nearby tub to be thoroughly scrubbed clean with alcohol, erasing any lingering toxin from his skin. She watched the princess, seeing the shock as wounds and bruises were revealed. The girl did not turn accusing eyes on her husband. Retsu did. She was met with eyes very like the king's, giving away nothing, full of privilege and humor at being judged by those less than worthy of his notice.

Even with heavy sedatives, the merciless sterilization of so many wounds caused moans of pain and ineffective efforts to escape, dying nerves making limbs unresponsive, clumsy. The brand, the bites, claw marks, even the blackened neck wasn't spared new bruises and gashes. She had treated those mauled by wild animals that didn't look as bad, and all of it blatantly sexual, focused on chest and shoulders, hips, buttocks, thighs. And the princess married to the man who had done this merely turned the boy carefully to run an alcohol-soaked rag over and over. The girl had more steel in her than she would have guessed.

Until the boy had been dried and dressed in a simple robe, she had shut down any attempt at conversation. Even the monster who was the cause of all this stayed silent, lurking in the background like a demon in the shadows. He had stepped in to take over carrying his fragile lover to the bath and stepped in again to carry the boy to the infirmary, the crowd of guards and attendants that had been chased into the hallway trailing along with loud whispers.

It was a moment that belied the reality. It had only been a few days since the Ascension and the appearance of the beautiful white-haired boy, and only hours since the wedding that gave the desert angel a crown. Then there was the prince. Fourteen years since the first known kill, Shutara and Aizen's first born, common favorite for the throne. Fourteen years since the foundation for this tragedy was laid by the man who knelt and gently laid his lover on the soft bed in the small, private room as far from the other foreigner as possible. She stared at the tableau, the hand that had bruised and scratched running gently through white hair, the soft and surprisingly capable lily-white hands gripping at the black silk sleeve as the lovely girl leaned into her lord, gazing down with sad tenderness. One could almost believe the illusion of a loving family.

Then the prince straightened, drew up to his full height which was far from impressive in Las Noches yet still seemed enough to support the aura of authority. Any patience the man had was worn thin, as she knew it would be. A killer's hand settled on a well-used hilt. Time to bow just a little before the crown.

"Now," the prince stepped toward her, his princess staying behind, kneeling down to take over stroking damp hair, "what _exactly_ happened? This was not accidental poisoning."

He knew it was not, but wanted her to say it, confirm it.

"Do you know what makes the Great Weave Spider unique, highness? Most venoms must be injected to be effective, thus the fangs of spiders and snakes. The female Weave Spider's venom is also a poison. The mother will groom herself and her eggs, spreading the venom from her fangs, and the poison adsorbs through the skin of almost any creature that touches it. The species was nearly eradicated due to justifiable fear, only a brief contact can kill a grown man, quite painfully."

"I do not need a lesson, Unohana, I am quite familiar with the effects of this particular poison. I need evidence."

"You have plenty. My word on what poison was used, the knowledge few have that there is one family that keeps and treasures the last known Great Weave Spiders in secret. Your guard is from the Kira family, the other a desert warrior, both nobles and soldiers will believe their testimony of the interaction between your mistress and the royal bastard Shukoro. And the young lord managed to confirm that he was touched in two places, both heavily inflamed with poison, the culprit most likely using thin dragonskin to protect his fingertips."

Something primal, joyous and vindictive, flashed in brown eyes, almost gold in their intensity above a lip curling back in a bloodthirsty snarl. His delicate little princess could not see the true face of her prince from where she still knelt, though to his credit there was a slight wince at her soft words.

"Will he live?"

"Very likely, highness, thanks to Hanataro's knowledge and quick action, though nothing is certain. Whether he will have a life worth living is now the question."

"What?"

"It is a poison that targets the nervous system, my prince. The damage could be catastrophic. And every second you keep me speaking instead of tending to him, it gets worse."

A flare of anger was buried quickly, the hand finally leaving the hilt as he turned to gather his princess to his side and leave without another word, just a glare she expected to be full of warning. Instead, two sets of brown eyes sent her a quiet plea before she was finally left alone. She shook off the drama, the politics, the threat hanging over her, needing complete calm. This would require everything she had, especially after so much energy given to the restore the burnt carcass of the foreign girl. In fact, as she began to focus her energy and moved to sit close to the boy, she realized it would not be possible. She was too drained, unable to do such extensive work with the necessary precision. Not alone.

"Hanataro."

Waiting just outside the door as she would expect, the young man who was for all intents and purposes her own son slipped in quietly. She could draw some energy from him. He had, at least, experienced this though he had failed to learn. It took everything Hanataro could muster just to heal a decent cut. But there was another possibility. It was the greatest risk yet, exposing her secret to one she barely knew. But the girl had a stronger will than her apprentice, a heart made strong by trial, and compassion that Retsu lacked.

"Go, bring back the princess."

ooooooooooOOOOOOOOOOoooooooooo

She stayed mostly quiet, though it wasn't her choice. No one wanted to talk. She couldn't even get her new best girlfriend . . . Nessie? Naria? whatever . . . to gossip with her about the small selection of men nearby. Well, the desert warrior was on duty as a guard, and the one she was supposed to keep safe could be dead by now, and the prince wasn't likely to just shrug his shoulders and let his mistress getting killed slide, so maybe Nelliel . . . Oh, that was it! Nelliel, how could she forget? It sounded like some kind of exotic flower.

She sighed, slumping against the wall a bit in boredom, trying not to worry about Toshiro. It was just lucky she was there and noticed something wrong. Lucky that little healer boy was around, too, and showed a bit of backbone. But she couldn't think too much about it, had to keep her cool and her wits instead of crying and wailing when that wouldn't do her or Toshiro any good at all.

 _That look_. When the prince came out of the bedroom with Toshiro cradled in his arms, small and pale and too quiet, he had paused to scan the small crowd. She had stood up to anger from Gin, cruel greed from so many, and the dark evil that lurked in the king's eyes. The prince she had met, spent a fabulous night with him just after his 15th birthday, in fact, and a few more since then. The cold rage and promise of agonizing vengeance were in the brown eyes as they stopped on her, narrowing, and she felt her knees weaken.

Rangiku was more than a pretty face. She could guess why the prince had summoned her to meet with him today. Gin had spies everywhere, from simple informants to operatives that actively worked on behalf of the Ichimaru clan. It would make sense if the prince suspected Toshiro, and the fact that Rangiku had met with the boy twice now could only turn suspicion into certainty.

Now, she was one of the few present when his mistress was poisoned. She would, of course, be a suspect. Maybe Toshiro failed in his mission, or defied Gin, and Ran had been sent to tie up the loose end. It wasn't far-fetched at all.

At least she didn't look guilty. The two shorties did. Not the blonde shorty so much, she looked a bit alarmed but calm. The one with the too-cute double ponytails, though, either she really had to pee, or she was nervous as fuck about something. Pissed off, too. She was sure the shrimp would have attacked her just for smiling in her direction if it weren't for all the angry guards with swords.

And then there was the even shorter girl near the Abarai heir, whose always angry eyes were scanning the crowd, even eyeing the guards with suspicion. She stole several glances at the girl beside him, leaning against the door and mostly staring at her feet with pretty violet-colored eyes. She was well dressed but trying to disappear, getting yanked back close to the big warrior whenever she managed to creep a couple of feet away.

" _Gaahhhd_ , so booored!"

At least five sets of eyes stared at her, ranging from shocked to pissed to amused.

"Too long without an orgasm, Ran? Owww!"

The previously timid, tiny thing had hauled off and kicked Renji in the shin, following it up with small fists bouncing off the solidly muscled ribs.

"You damned pervert! Saying such a thing to a lady, filthy animal!"

She laughed and bounced over to the small whirlwind, prying Renji's big fingers off thin arms and dragging the bundle of fury several steps away before she or Abarai had figured out what was happening.

"Well, aren't you just the fiercest thing? I'm Rangiku, you can call me Ran. It's alright, Renji's not right but he's not wrong, you know what I mean? There's orgasms and then there's _orgasms_ , and it's been _aaaages_. Well, the dry spell's ending soon, if I have anything to say about it. Honey, who did that to your hair? I mean, ick, you come with me when this is over. We'll get that washed out and get you some layers. You need body, show off that pretty little face and such big, interesting eyes. Oh, you're so cute you could be Toshiro's sister. Hey! Are you Toshiro's sister? Those eyes, that skin, you must be . . ."

"Shut up!"

She blinked down at the girl, all the prettiness ruined by a fussy scowl. Yep, Toshiro's twin sister.

"Knock it off, Ran, she's got nothing to do with you."

The violet eyes narrowed, and the girl evaded Renji's grab at her, slinking down and away and spinning to stand beside her. She laughed again, appreciating what the girl was doing.

"What are you talking about, Renji? This is my new best friend . . . what's your name, honey?"

"Rukia." The girl smiled prettily up at her, all sweetness and innocence, before turning an evil smirk at the tattooed noble.

"Well, Ru-kee-ya, lets gossip about the funny-looking pineapple, shall we? From what I remember, he's ticklish, right above the hips."

"Ran, don't you fucking dare! Rukia, don't listen to this whore."

"Whore! That's not what you were screaming at the ceiling."

"Fuck off, pervert. Pretty obvious you are the whore around here. Besides, did you forget where you just stole me from?"

"You wanna go back? I'm sure Cirucci would love to get her hands on you right about now."

"Cirucci? Rukia! You're from The Rose? Well, who would have guessed! And here the prince's lapdog was getting all high and mighty, like he's too good for whores now."

"Fuck, Ran, I didn't . . ."

"'Scuse me! The whores will just be over here by ourselves, wouldn't want to dirty any of you fine nobles."

Rukia snickered and wound an arm around hers. She was delighted, until she turned around to stalk up the hall and nearly smacked into the chest of someone she really did not want to bump into. She jerked the poor girl out of the way with her arm as she quickly backed off and bowed from the waist, holding her breath and hoping she was too insignificant to notice.

Most nobility in Las Noches were like Renji, undoubtedly in power but with their roots bare and filthy. Most nobility clung with pride to their rough edges, one step removed from the chieftains of the desert tribes. Most nobility could argue with a whore in the hallway or even fuck a whore in the hallway without one jot of worry about dignity. Most nobility were not named Kuchiki.

"What the . . ."

" _Shhh_ ," she hissed at the girl, loud in the sudden silence, and didn't dare look up as she backed another step, completely out of the path of the head of one of the oldest and strongest families in Hueco Mundo.

"Kuchiki! What are you doing here?"

"Abarai." Unaffected, cool, that voice, and she held back a sigh of relief when the noble stepped forward without any indication that he noticed her presence. "His Royal Highness was to meet with me 15 minutes ago. I do not have time to waste."

"Yeah, well get in line, you pompous prick. He's got shit more important than you."

She backed two more steps, straightening and watching. She could feel the tension like a heavy weight in the air, and she wanted to be anywhere but in between a wall and the two nobles. On the other side of the hall, the two short servant girls were also trying to merge with the wood, but they were all trapped by the line of guards, even thicker now with two other Kuchikis added to the numbers.

Beside her, the girl snorted, and she looked to see her new friend eyeing the cocky Renji like he was a prime steak on a diamond plate. Oh, so that's what was going on! Interesting. Gin would be thrilled to get this bit of information. Families had been throwing daughters at the Abarai heir for six years. Marrying a tiny little thing from a whorehouse, though . . . maybe Rukia was a noble? She doubted it.

With a loud creak, the double doors swung open, thankfully breaking at least one layer of the tension. She ducked her head again as brown eyes swept the scene. One arm wrapped around the princess, her curves melting into his left side as if she was created to be there, and such a breathtakingly beautiful couple, strength and sweetness, power and softness.

The stunning pair didn't get two steps before Toshiro's little healer nearly ran into the back of the princess, tugging on her sleeve and whispering too low for her to hear. A quick look and a nod from Ichigo, and the most beatific smile bloomed on that perfect face. She couldn't help a small and petty bit of jealousy, followed by the much more gratifying warmth of happiness for girl. Toshiro's injuries had made her doubt what she had told the boy, that Ichigo was basically a decent man and a generous lover. Then the young man had surprised her, saying he had encouraged and enjoyed what must have been a . . . vigorous night, to say the least. She had only partly believed him. But if Ichigo could make his new wife smile like that, as if she was seeing all the Heavens promised by all the Gods in his eyes, then she hadn't been wrong about the prince, and Toshiro hadn't been covering for an abusive lover.

"My prince, you are uninjured."

While she had been lost in thought, the princess had vanished back in to the infirmary, and a new face-off between nobles was taking place in front of her, an encounter potentially far more dangerous than Kuchiki versus Abarai. Oh, Renji was a hell of a fighter, she knew, but Kuchiki wouldn't have drawn his sword, perfectly capable of humiliating Renji with just words.

"Sorry to disappoint." A consummate politician, to answer that blunt accusation with seemingly genuine humor, a match for any verbal war with this particular noble. "Thanks for waiting, Byakuya. I promise it will be well worth your time. Renji, bring the girl."

She felt a twinge of protectiveness, as if she needed another pet project while the last one was strangled, battered and poisoned. All she could do was squeeze the girl's arm and try to make her smile look supportive as big, worried eyes turned to her.

"Head high, Rukia," she whispered, though she knew they all could hear. "Renji's got a big bark, but he loves a strong woman to yank his leash."

And then she was face to face with the prince, himself. She hadn't even seen him move, her smirk dropping when she looked away from Rukia to find him right in front of her, all steely eyes and severe frown and she fought the urge to back away since there was nowhere to go. The casually friendly boy with the disarming smile who spent a week at the Serpent and then visited her bed a few more times over the years, always with a gift, sweet words, soft touches, he was nowhere to be seen in the stern face.

"Rangiku."

Quickly she managed a decent curtsy, not entirely confident that her legs would manage to straighten under the weight of his accusing appraisal. Now she would be dragged off to a cell to be interrogated, or worse, and no number of fond memories would stay his hand if he thought there was even a chance she was conspiring with or against his injured mistress.

"Come with me."

Now it was the short girl taking her hand with a comforting squeeze before being pulled away by Abarai. She had a moment as the procession of men and women she had no business being around, well, not in this context anyway, sorted themselves into a procession, prince, his right hand man with the girl who also didn't seem to belong, three black-clad assassins, three Kuchikis, and then little old her, wondering if she couldn't just take a wrong turn and make a run for the door.

Well, if nothing else, being absent from the Crowned Serpent for hours with an excuse Gin couldn't touch would drive him absolutely mad.

ooooooooooOOOOOOOOOOoooooooooo

It had to have been at least a week since his wedding, surely. It couldn't possibly have been one single day. Such a wonderful morning, lingering with his desert flower, slow and tender sex, his fingers placing bits of fruit and candies between red lips, talking of simple things . . . he had planned to go back to her for more. Instead, plans that had been building for years all coming to a head at once.

It was getting late, he was not that he was going to make it for the scheduled dinner with his father and Grimmjow. Well, if the man couldn't handle a meeting with the king without a babysitter, then he didn't have a prayer of controlling the tribe. Soon, Grimm would be on his way to take that control. His ally would be de facto king of the greatest of the desert tribes, a scheme he was never quite sure would come together, so complicated the plots over years, so dependent on others making the choices he pushed them toward.

Even more years, the labor of his life, even more intricate machinations had finally brought Shutara within reach, exactly at the right time. Luck, his ever-faithful companion, had given him the final weapons, Orihime and Toshiro, their words, actions, and very existence enough to provide the final push.

 _Toshiro_. The price he might pay, the possibility that he had sacrificed a brilliant diamond to the darkness he had harbored in his soul, his lust for vengeance. He could not dwell on it now. He could not afford to lose focus now, not for the slave he had been given, nor for the priceless lover that slave could become. Even that loss would be insignificant if he could succeed.

Smaller successes he celebrated in his mind as he walked, planning ways to use them for the future he was building. He left a confused and mildly pissed Renji in the hall with the girl, waving Byakuya and his kin into his sitting room along with an even more confused Rangiku, trying hard to seem brave.

Only Orihime was more beautiful, and Rangiku had a sensuality that his innocent wife did not yet possess. He knew what she feared, and she was right to fear it. He had intended to question her thoroughly, to find out what exactly her ties were to Toshiro, though his own informants had at least confirmed that his new pet and his former professional dalliance had been friendly at Gin's and perhaps it was all innocent. But his father's favorite was spymaster as well as whoremaster; there was plenty of reason to suspect both Rangiku and Toshiro.

Her fear that she would be accused of poisoning Toshiro was not quite unfounded, since she did not know the nature of the poison or its exclusivity. He knew who was responsible, had boldly invited the attack though he had hoped to catch the fucking bastard in the act before his wife or his lover were actually harmed. In that, luck had failed him. Where before he planned to simply use Shukuro to get to the true target of his wrath, now he would take great pleasure in the fate of the one who had caused Toshiro pain and perhaps taken his little treasure away from him.

Trusting his gut was easy when all the evidence supported his instincts. Toshiro was no spy. Rangiku may be, but if she was getting any information from his lover it was without the young man's knowledge, he was nearly certain of it now. Gin's trained spy would never have allowed Shukuro to touch him, Gin being one of the few who was aware of the Senjumaru secret.

The Kuchiki trio deliberately ignored the whore, typical arrogance blinding them to a woman who would enrich their 'perfect' clan with intelligence, grace, and heart. No other clan would condemn Rangiku for an accident of birth and a brave choice to elevate herself from poverty. No, most would celebrate it. But not Kuchiki. Well, he would soon be forcing them to swallow a more bitter pill than just waiting while their prince spoke to a whore.

"Rangiku."

She jumped, curtsied again, the low cut of the black and white silk dress drawing even Kuchiki eyes as she leaned forward a bit. He suspected she couldn't manage to speak, stripped of all her power here, away from the luxurious queendom where she reigned. Ichigo stepped closer, deliberately placing himself between her and the pompous nobles, catching the familiar scent of gardenia and orange blossoms heavy with sweet memories.

Lifting her hand, he pressed a velvet bag into it and leaned in close, feeling her freeze as he whispered into her ear.

"For Yumichika. Tell him to come to me if he ever needs anything at all."

So close together, her arm brushed firmly against his stomach as she pulled open the bag enough to see the glint of rich, antique gold and purple gems. Amethysts, each with a hint of smoke, an exact match for the eyes of the best lover Ichigo had ever experienced. So far, anyway, his pet would one day surpass even Yumichika.

Her warm sigh preceded the relieved lift of her lips into a faint smile. He drew back, out of the alluring cloud of her scent, and he thought to himself that the lips of this goddess should never be without that sultry curve. A hard life, and it would only get harder. He knew Gin had stopped allowing Rangiku to take clients, and he had suspected why. Then, the king's favorite who prided himself on always standing alone brought Rangiku to the wedding. Ichigo pitied the woman, even though she may be one of the few capable of handling Lord Ichimaru. But then, if someone as deplorably selfish as himself could hope to keep precious Orihime happy, perhaps even Ichimaru Gin deserved his chance.

"And this," he picked up the much larger and heavier bag, canvas lined with waxed leather to prevent the leaking of blood, and she took the thick handle with a slight frown, "is for Gin. See that he gets it quickly. And Ran," he reached and brushed the back of his hand against her cheek, earning a startled stare, "I wouldn't peek inside that one."

"Ah," breathless, still a bit afraid as she should be, "yes, Your Highness."

"Go on then. Come tomorrow after breakfast if you want to visit my pet."

A flash of her fiery spirit in a brief glare and tightening of her jaw, but she didn't argue about the title he gave to Toshiro. It was enough to get her moving, enough to straighten her spine in indignation as she flounced to the door. He had already turned his attention to the more dangerous and more valuable guests when she huffed, pulling the door closed one-armed with her grisly burden and the priceless gems.

"My Lord Kuchiki," at his gesture, the stuffy and downright pretty lord took the seat seconds after Ichigo settled into his favorite armchair.

He did not acknowledge the other two who remained standing behind and flanking their lord, following the strict formality this one family insisted on. They claimed descent from a royal line much older than Hueco Mundo and were the only major clan that did not insist their family was from the desert and only from the desert. There was no reason to disbelieve their history, though Ichigo thought clinging to a past that only set you apart and made gaining power more difficult was a very stupid decision. Not that the Kuchikis lacked power, but if they would conform a bit to Las Noches, they would certainly have more influence.

"Your Royal Highness. May I assume you have brought me here to discuss our previous agreement?"

Unusually blunt, a breach in Kuchiki protocol that revealed exactly how important and personal this was. Excellent. He had been a bit worried that four years of waiting for the fruition of an unconfirmed prince's promise would have cooled Byakuya's fire. He knew who the other two were. Second cousins of Byakuya, they were brother and sister to Kuchiki Masae, royal mistress murdered along with the child in her womb by the same poison that had killed his own mother and, perhaps, his own royal mistress.

Ichigo had been too young when his mother died, no allies, no skilled healer to save her or identify the poison, but the symptoms and the circumstances were enough. It was not long after his 16th birthday when Masae joined the royal family, a major move for the Kuchikis who hoped to see her crowned. She was exactly the king's type, young, willowy, dignified but reportedly quite the opposite in bed. It wasn't long before the girl took up all of the king's time, and then she was bred, the final insult to Shutara.

But the bitch had covered her tracks well, and it was months shy of Unohana's arrival. The favorite again, and the suspicions of the Kuchiki clan did not sway the king. The proud clan watched the murderess rewarded, and their code of honor forbade assassination. Ichigo smirked. They must be the only family in Hueco Mundo that gave a shit about evidence of guilt.

"Exactly. It is time to deliver the justice you so deserve."

"Both of them?"

"Indeed. The son first, the very hands that delivered death, and attempted to do so again tonight. There is more than enough evidence to satisfy you, including three honorable eyewitnesses, provided the victim survives, and the Royal Healer's testament. My operatives are already on the move if he is not secured already. You can have him, on the condition that you make it painful."

The two behind the lord looked satisfied and eager, starving wolves with prey in their jaws. Byakuya's eyes closed, tension softening, a clear indication that he was pleased.

"As for the mother, if her lord does not do the honors himself when the news breaks, she is certain to attack the king, myself, my wife, or your family. We will all, of course, be ready and waiting."

"You could move against her tonight. It is justified."

Said with such authority, as if the great Lord Kuchiki was the one who decided life and death in this room. He let it go, choosing his battles, keeping his allies.

"And miss her scrambling to save her son and herself? Perish the thought. Now, for the the other end of our bargain."

Tension returned. Byakuya was very young, newly made head of the family when Ichigo had arranged to be in the man's path as he stormed away from a disastrous meeting with the king, who refused to even hear the Kuchiki clans complaint with nothing but conjecture. The enraged lord had been just rash enough to listen to the favorite bastard, and just thirsty enough for vengeance to take a chance that the clever bastard with a reputation for ruthlessness would someday earn a crown. With the eyes of his clan on him, Byakuya had made what could have been a fool's bargain, promising a favor without defining limits, undoubtedly figuring the bastard would die before making good on deal.

"I had thought to collect the price at a later date, but it so happens I have an offer for you that will clear any debt while not only costing the Kuchiki family very little benefiting the entire clan greatly. And I do not like lingering debts, they foster resentment."

"That is very true. May I know the details of this generous offer, Highness?"

He paused to pour some of the dark wine and handed a glass to Byakuya, letting the three nobles imagine the worst. It would seem like he was letting them off quite easy. Ichigo believed what he said, holding a debt over this family for any length of time would not be worth it, souring any chance of a decent alliance after his father had basically shit on the high ideals of Kuchiki honor.

"I understand you sought a marriage alliance with Abarai a few years ago."

"The boy refused."

Renji was four years older, but he managed not to laugh. Byakuya was, in a way, far more mature, having been head of the family since age 13. It had been another offense for the prickly Kuchiki pride, but Renji had no wish to wed either of the Kuchiki candidates, despite beauty, prowess, and an alliance that Renji's parents wanted almost enough to disown the heir when he turned them down.

"Nothing personal, I assure you," one fine black brow twitched, "Renji is just a stray dog, couldn't stand the thought of marrying and giving up an ounce of independence. That is, until he fell in love."

And now the brow rose. One thing Byakuya was – clever. The king was the only man in Las Noches with more pride than a Kuchiki, and that pride made him not only deny an underage lord a fair hearing, but had make him mock the boy. The king rarely made such a mistake, and Ichigo rarely had such an opportunity to capitalize on such a mistake. Now the clever little boy was a clever young lord with the absolute faith of a powerful family, and he was not Aizen Sosuke's ally.

"Tell me, did you notice the girl? Nameless, I'm afraid, born in the slums. Fearless little thing, smart, resourceful . . . I'm quite fond of her." He held the gray eyes as he took a slow drink, letting the point sink in. "I would support the marriage without question, of course. I've always favored such qualities more than name or wealth. But there is the matter of the current heads of House Abarai, who do value name quite highly."

As expected, the subtle twisting of lips, tightening of eyelids, thick mask letting these little signs of immense displeasure show to the observant eye. Yet the young lord did not protest now while he still could. It made tactical sense. Adopt the wretched girl, try to polish her up enough not to embarrass the proud Kuchiki name, pay a debt and gain an alliance with so little sacrificed. The advantages of a marriage between Kuchiki and the Abarai heir who was also the close favorite of the prince of Hueco Mundo . . . a bitter pill to swallow, but with a very large spoon of sugar to ease the pain.

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* * *

 **A/N** \- Good lord, so many nice reviews for the last chapter! **Thank you!**

For those that like this, please join me for _**Demon Outside My Window**_ , another long fantasy AU.

If you like dark (very dark), I did post an IchiHitsu on AO3, too mature for this site, called _**Ruined**_. For now a one-shot unless I can't leave it alone, but don't say I didn't warn you about the darkest thing that I've ever written.

 **Beebo85,** always so kind. I love scary Unohana. I'd like to make her even darker, but I need her to be a little kind for the sake of the plot. Maybe someday I'll make her a real villain.

 **Princessatz** , I wondered if you were still reading, so glad you are! Taking forever to get to Hyorinmaru . . .

 **Ichkak, Mage Otaku** , thank you both, so flattering that you find this entertaining!

 **Guest Vic** – I wish I updated weekly. I try not to let it get to a month, but I don't have a lot of time and I hate to rush writing, so sometimes it's a week and sometimes, yeah, a month. Yes, I'm setting things up for Tosh and Hyorinmaru, among other things

 **Guest anonymous** – too many spoiler questions! Won't say if Tosh comes clean or Ichigo finds out everything, and won't say if Momo and Tosh find each other or manage to just miss each other, it all seems so close to breaking, though, doesn't it?


	31. Sweet Dreams

_._

 **Chapter 31**

 **Sweet Dreams**

 _All men dream, but not equally.  
Those who dream by night in the dusty recesses of their minds, wake in the day to find that it was vanity:  
but the dreamers of the day are dangerous men, for they may act on their dreams with open eyes, to make them possible. _

_~T.E. Lawrence_

"What? Just tell him it's me, Shuhei, you know he'll want to see me."

Honestly, keeping her waiting in the hallway? She knew he'd be pissed at her for being gone all day, and he hadn't said a word to her since the wedding and that weird thing that happened between them. True, she'd avoided him so maybe it was her fault, a little . . . but mostly his fault. She was on to him, and he knew it. But hiding from her was pointless now.

"I really am sorry, Ran. He was very clear, no one at all unless the king himself walks in."

Of all the . . . she stalked toward the spikey-headed guard, ignoring how the other one half-drew his sword. It was his own fault she had to grab the hair above his brow to yank him down several inches; if he'd just wear proper clothes, she could have grabbed his collar. But, oh no, not pretty boy Shuhei, he had to barely cover his toned chest with strips of cloth, like showing off in a whorehouse was at all a good idea.

"Listen closely, Shuhei," she hissed in his startled face, "you march your scrawny ass in there and tell his lordship that _I am waiting_ , and if he doesn't invite me in _ever so politely_ within 30 seconds, I'm taking the gift sent by the prince right back to the palace and he'll never see it or me again. Understand? And so help me Iba if you don't take your hand off that hilt I'll shove that sword so far up your tight ass that it'll knock out your teeth."

The gulping of the tattooed throat was followed by the snick of the heavy brass lock and all three of them went still. Rangiku's hand was wound tight in black hair, the guard bent helplessly down with arms frozen out to his sides, unsure whether touching the master's favorite was acceptable when he was being physically assaulted, and the other guard with sword half-drawn, equally unsure which side of this conflict was safe.

"Oh, dear. Such commotion when I'm certain I asked to not be disturbed."

Her first instinct was to shrink away from the underlying threat in the casual words. Her second instinct was to fall into her usual role of oblivious coquette, laugh without any hint that she heard the coldness in his voice. But then she remembered. " _Ran-chan . . . what are you doing to me?_ " His voice so raw and mournful.

Wide and wicked, the perpetual grin tilted slightly to the side as she straightened, letting go of the guard and hoisting the canvas bag with her other hand just long enough to draw attention to it before she swung it back down and strode passed all three men into Gin's opulent office. The guards watched for a signal to grab her and dole out a severe punishment, a signal that never came.

She forced herself not to look back, not to cringe as she heard the door snick shut. No, she should have a confident, victorious smile, so she worked hard on that while she let the bag thunk down on the dark wood of the desk.

"Whew! Next time the prince has a gift for you, he can damn well lug it here himself."

Turning, she knew she could not hold that perfect smile, not with Gin slowly, smoothly gliding toward her step by careful step, hands tucked into wide, white sleeves, eyes nearly closed, grin too steady, looking for all the world like the snake slithering so casually toward the hypnotized prey.

What was she thinking, toying with him? She had seen what he could do to those that merely inconvenienced him. Even in a city where the lowest peasant would kill for an imagined offense, Gin's pride and viciousness was legendary.

An almost automatic reaction, her laughter so well practiced that it seemed genuine escaped before she could think, and a little of her confidence returned when she caught a glimpse of ice-blue eyes. Palms finding the edge behind her, she hopped up to sit on the desk, leaned back a little and crossed her legs, the long slit of her skirt letting her entire right leg be her defense, a masterpiece to rival any sculpture in his collection of marble goddesses lining the walkway to his kingdom.

It worked, the narrow blue eyes sliding to the canvas bag beside and slightly behind her, and back to the long lines of her calf, down to fine ankle and pointed toe hidden behind the black silk slipper. His long, thin fingers reached her first, right hand caressing her knee as he stepped in close, closer, until her knee was pushed roughly from its perch, pushed aside. His final step, both hands on both her knees, pulling her forward.

Rangiku didn't fight it, didn't want to. Ten years as a whore in a city renowned for sensuality, finding herself leaning away from the hard body now pressed quite snugly between her thighs was nothing new. Yet her mind went absolutely numb, just like the helpless prey staring into the cobra's eyes, her heart doing its best to escape her chest even as something warm and dark within her was purring in triumph and anticipation.

"My, my, Ran-chan. You have been a busy girl."

Ten years of pleasing all kinds of appetites, including his, and he could still make her feel like a blushing innocent. It took all her willpower to stay still as he bent toward her, deliberately shifting his hips to make sure she felt the hard evidence of his interest, pushing it right against her own unbearably sensitive flesh. His right hand ran up the outside of her thigh, skilled fingers pressing into her skin, under and over the flimsy obstacles of silk until he had a firm palm pressing the small of her back.

Just as she was sure the smirking lips would latch onto her neck or breast, just as she was sure her last show of defiant will would crack and shatter, she heard the scraping and glanced to the side where his left hand dragged the canvas bag closer.

He straightened, purposefully swinging his hips forward, and she bit her bottom lip almost hard enough to bleed. Her eyes locked on his tongue, slipping out along his lip in the exact place her own teeth clenched her skin. And then his body jolted against hers repeatedly as he tugged open each of the four heavy buckles with one hand, the other keeping her from scooting away.

"Let's just see what the strawberry prince has sent us, hmm?"

Latching on to the excuse to look away, she turned her head and found a very good excuse to yelp like she wanted to. Pale fingers knotted in long, black hair and pulled up, revealing the distorted and bloody face of the master of The Desert Rose. She was startled more than frightened, having suspected that the oddly packaged 'gift' might be something particularly gruesome after Ichigo warned her not to look. Rangiku had seen much worse but would rather it be a bit farther away from her.

"What do you think, Ran? Should I display it here in the office, or maybe in the reception room?"

The chuckling snake wasn't surprised at all. He would have known within minutes that Nnoitra was dead, and probably knew who did it. Ichigo wasn't the type to sneak around. But why? What did Ichigo have against the admittedly repulsive Nnoitra?

"Hope the little beauty lives through the night. He's turned out to be a very valuable investment."

What did that mean? Did Gin have something to do with poisoning Toshiro? No, he was telling her that he didn't. Yet, he was still responsible; he was the one who brought Toshiro here and put him in the prince's bed.

Her eyes snapped back to him, widening in understanding. He'd been waiting, watching her reactions, and that made her think even more carefully. Was he watching for fear, disgust, anger, all those things? Yes, he must be. Whether he intended her to be his wife or his mistress, no woman could stand by him unless she was prepared to accept his nature, or even match it.

She didn't know all that went in to Gin's plans, obviously, but she knew that kidnapping and enslaving a foreign noble wasn't a simple ploy to get his rival murdered without getting his hands dirty. She had assumed it was about earning Ichigo's favor, and maybe that was enough. Or maybe there were plots within plots, things she could not see.

One thing was clear, the man she had known as a powerful, commanding, ruthless master who was also extremely generous and fair to those who played their part well, that man was a glimpse of the real Gin, head of an influential house, ruler of a vast empire of trade, favorite of the king, and so much more. He could have anything and anyone he wanted, and he had the power to take no matter what the resistance. And that made the dark, purring, happy thing inside of her absolutely writhe with wanting.

She remembered the first time with him, how she'd had to take a large pinch of the special herbs many whores used to kill fear and awaken passion, terrified of him more than any man or woman he would ever send to her bed. She remembered the night a few months ago, when he had draped himself over her and merely slept through the night in her arms, then woke to tell her he would add her nightly rate to her ledger but would not allow any more clients to touch her.

The second her hands left the wooden surface to reach for him, he slid his hand up her back and pulled, crushing them together, crushing her lips and shoving hips and tongue forward into her. There was no fear in her, no disgust at what he had done and would do to advance himself and his family. There was only the dizzying rush of lust that made her wrap her arms tight around his neck and try to shove herself even closer.

Already, she was close, the physical pleasure of him bucking his hips intensified by her thoughts. She moaned against his tongue, drowning in the realization that she was quite hopelessly in love with his dominance, his cold-blooded determination that made cruelty a shallow concept for fools who thought to measure a man such as this in terms of good or evil.

And then he moved, his hands like harsh bands of iron wrapping around her wrists and pulling them apart from behind his neck, pushing them away. Her legs tried to catch him as he stepped back, out from the warm embrace of her thighs, the white silk of his trousers clinging to his crotch with silvery damp evidence of both of their arousal.

"Gin . . ." How many men would give their fortunes to hear her breathe their name so wantonly?

"I better do something with this present. Maybe I'll set it on my nightstand, keep me company as I sleep all alone."

A long finger brushed her hot cheek as she stared, disbelieving, too stunned to do anything as he picked up the bag and turned, walking right to the door.

"Sweet dreams, Ran-chan."

ooooooooooOOOOOOOOOOoooooooooo

It was a good thing Tatsuki had found her and was waiting in the open lobby area of the infirmary when the rather scary healer told her to go rest. She made it all the way to the stairs that led to the second floor and her quarters, but had to lean on her friend from there, glad she didn't have to lean on one of the stern, silent guards in black. She was surprised that Tatsuki didn't ask what was wrong. It was nearly midnight; maybe her friend was just as tired as she was. But it felt like something more, that awkwardness that she had noticed earlier in the day was back.

Orihime had a new life now. So did Tatsuki, she supposed, and maybe it wasn't fair to expect their friendship to stay the same. She was glad her friend had decided to spend time training with Ichigo's guards, even if a small, selfish part of her had envisioned Tatsuki staying close, truly being the 'lady-in-waiting' as they had pretended. Instead, Tatsuki made sure she got to her bed, helped her out of another brand new and lovely dress and into a light robe, and hugged her goodnight. All very politely affectionate, when the Tatsuki of just yesterday would have pounced onto the bed and insisted on knowing everything that had happened, lying face-to-face and hugging their pillows as they talked until they fell asleep exhausted.

And so much had happened. And she couldn't even talk to Tatsuki about all of it. She had wanted to tell her friend all about Ichigo, and how surprisingly wonderful her wedding night had been, how all the expectations of unpleasant 'wifely duties' were lies, horrible lies. But there was that odd silence, like her friend dreaded hearing a single word not because Tatsuki feared to hear that Orihime hated it, but like the girl who knew her better than anyone didn't want to know that Orihime was infatuated with her husband, or that Orihime had enjoyed sex.

And now, another secret lodged like a heavy stone in between them. The intimidating healer had only smiled tiredly and calmly as she threatened Orihime. _'I have been the Royal Healer for years, my dear, only a common if talented healer. It would be an inconvenience if anyone learned of the ability I have shown you tonight.'_

It didn't even sound like a threat, but it was, and she shivered again as she pulled up the blankets to ward off the cold and the feeling that a motherly-looking figure might be standing in the shadow with a knife. She would have liked to go to her husband's chamber, if he was even there, and curl up tight against his invincible strength. Though she did not know all the customs here, there were separate bedrooms for a reason, and she sang in her head, one of the long, rhythmic songs the tribe would sing on long treks across open sands. It always worked, calming her thoughts until they faded away.

ooooooooooOOOOOOOOOOoooooooooo

"You sure about this? You look dead on your feet."

"Yeah, I'm fuckin' sure, alright? Not staying here when there's clean air just outside the walls. This place smells."

"Well, it is a stable, Grimm."

Very pleasant, he thought, the scent of horses, sweet oats, and hay, very few unpleasant scents as even in the middle of the night the royal stables were kept impeccably clean. Soft nickers greeted them, the residents waking to peer at the unusually late visitors.

"Not the fuckin' stable, the fuckin' city."

"That's my city you're insulting."

"Oh, yeah, forgive me, Your Most Royal Pain in My Ass. Where the fuck were you?"

Pausing at the tack room, he slung the bridle over his shoulder. Eyeing the equipment, he found a suitably regal-looking saddle pad of emerald green with silver embroidery, ignoring the sneer from the desert warrior. He intended the tribe to know exactly who favored the new chief.

"What's wrong, pussycat, the big bad king scare you?"

He was ready for the fist that he only narrowly dodged, feeling the solid knuckles skim across his cheek. Grimmjow was not ready to have a saddle thrown at him, and staggered back while Ichigo simply turned away, grabbing a per-prepared set of saddle bags, always stocked with dry rations for horse and rider and basic equipment for a couple of nights in the desert.

"You're never gonna let that go."

"Nope."

Who would? The sight of one of the few men that could actually make him consider his own mortality in a fight down on his belly, slowly, so slowly crawling toward a yowling sandcat caught in a leg trap, cooing and purring . . . and then seeing that man snarling protectively over the blanketed bundle of fangs and claws even while he dripped blood from getting mauled as thanks for the rescue . . . who would ever let that go?

He heard the loud huff, the jangle of tack being gathered from the floor, the light steps following.

"Your old man ain't shit."

"Bullshit."

Silence. That's right, no one in their right mind was unafraid of Aizen Sosuke. The throne was, in a way, asking Grimmjow to become a powerful ally. Yet he was sure his father had done so in the most politely threatening manner possible. Once Grimm had the tribe, it would be very difficult to take it back even if Grimmjow took the bit between his teeth and ran. Go after the largest and oldest tribe, every tribe and half of the nobles would be on the warpath.

So, the king would have intimidated Grimmjow while he still could, but the prince worked on a different tactic. Let Grimm go, let him be what he was. Ichigo knew deep in his bones that the man would have his back in exchange.

"Fuck me!"

"Tempting."

"Oh, fuck you, Ichigo."

He grinned. "Not helping."

The exclamation was not an invitation, but a well-justified reaction. Not big, you didn't want big in the desert, you wanted stamina, tolerance for the heat and sand. Not black, a death sentence in the harsh sun, there was a reason all black and all white horses were rarely seen in Hueco Mundo. Blue roan, black and white like a slice of the star-filled night sky, the peppering of light and dark giving the blue sheen to the coat, the stallion was exquisite, radiating power in every line.

"He's a smart one, trained him myself from the hour he was born, knows every strike command and has used them all in battle. Breeds true for color, too. He deserves the life you can give him."

There was no gift more precious to a tribesman than a horse, no prize won in battle was more valuable, no companion held in greater esteem. The mount Grimm had been using belonged to the army, no worthy enough mount found or won after his own had been fatally wounded. It simply wouldn't be acceptable to the tribe, a Kenpachi without a single mount. A standard horse would be good enough. But this one . . . with this one gesture, Ichigo was elevated beyond the status of friend, rival, or prince. He would say it made him a brother, though if a brother had given him a warhorse, he would assume the beast was trained to kill him.

The saddle had been carefully, quietly laid on the floor. Just like with the cat, Grimmjow was moving with deliberate care, speaking praise in a low, sing-song voice that had even Ichigo enchanted. All the tact that Grimmjow lacked in his interactions with humans, he gained back in his interactions with animals.

The heavy half-door was opened, dark eyes watching every move. He hadn't warned Grimmjow about the temperament, how the stallion could be vicious to those it didn't trust. He didn't need to. A warhorse was a warhorse, and a desert warrior knew how to respect and earn respect.

A scarred and callused hand with surprisingly well-tended, shiny nails had already succeeded in burying itself in the black mane, grabbing and rubbing where the neck met shoulders. The soft muzzle turned and nudged at the man's shoulder. As he had expected, the two were already starting to bond.

"What's his name?"

"He wasn't meant to be mine, I've always known that."

Working his way up to rubbing the horse's poll, speckled ears swiveling in interest, Grimm leaned forward and whispered something Ichigo did not try to hear, a private moment of power. It was worth it. He already had his favorite mount and a dozen others trained to perfection. This magnificent animal shouldn't be anyone's second choice.

"Alright," he hung the bridle on the hook outside the stall and tossed the blanket over the half-door, "remember to fly the red flag so they know you're a challenger. Otherwise you'll get shot before you make it within a mile. Sending word to the throne and coming in for formal recognition is traditional. Six good mares are already yours, good matches to start a line, and I'll want the pick of the first breeding."

"Shoulda known there was a price."

It was said in a mellow tone, the warrior not turning away from making friends with his new mount. He snorted and left, no more words needing to be exchanged, and enjoyed the quiet cold of the night as he walked back to the palace.

As he walked through the massive, open doors, a shadow parted from the wall to fall into step beside him, clad in black with only hazel eyes showing. He took the offered note in silence, reading the report that Shukuro had been extracted from the Senjumaru manor without incident and without witnesses. He grinned to think of the boy's shock, so secure surrounded by a powerful family that knew Shutara's son was their best hope for the throne. No level of security was high enough when it came to Yoruichi and Kisuke. Now the little spider would be squirming in the hands of the Kuchiki who had been waiting years to exact their revenge.

"Tell them I am very pleased."

A deep nod and the shadow vanished, using all her tricks to impress. Soon, he would not need the team of assassins, the greatest threat to his family eliminated. He would keep them a while longer, long enough to weather any retaliation and see his wife and pet trained sufficiently to live or die by their own skill. He would miss knowing he had such talent at his beck and call, though Renji, Chad, Izuru, and Neliel were worth a small army, and he had others he could call on if truly needed.

It was a real shame Grimmjow wasn't meant for a city. If it wouldn't end in disaster, he'd gladly keep the man here. But, having Grimm holding the Kenpachi title, having Renji take the strong Abarai clan with a Kuchiki wife, and having Shutara and her murderous offspring destroyed would be a pretty fair compensation.

His quarters were empty, as expected. He cleaned up quickly, hoping that whatever the healer had wanted his wife for was successful and done. His pretty lover lingered in the back of his thoughts, though he refused to engage in the what ifs – what if Toshiro died, what if he lived but was crippled, what if he never woke up. He was tired, only letting himself feel it as he dried off and pulled on loose pants.

Returning to his own bed would be wise, only a few hours left til dawn. But he made his way through the narrow, pitch-black passage. The faint moonlight greeted him as he swung open the panel, entering his wife's sitting room quietly. Already, the room smelled of her, night blooming jasmine wafting in to mix with her more subtle lavender.

The curtains were all pulled back, and he felt some of the day's tension drain away as he spotted the dark spill of red hair, the curve of her peach cheek, the curl of fingertips around a spot of moonlight gathered in her palm above the dark sheet. Though he moved carefully, a faint murmur and flick of eyelashes greeted him as he slid under the sheet and close to her.

"Ichigo?"

She started to turn toward him, but he reached out to drape an arm over her waist. If he let her fully wake, she would probably think he came for sex. He was certain they would have told her to expect it every night. While he wouldn't object to that at all, they were both exhausted. All he sought was some warmth and comfort, things he hadn't really been able to seek since his brief childhood.

"Shhh, sleep, my dear."

Damage done, he let her turn toward him, tightened his arm around her waist, gathering her close and settling his head on her pillow to watch her tired eyes so slowly blink open.

"Sorry to wake you."

Her hand slid into place on his arm, lovely face burrowing into the pillow, so close their breath intermingled, warming him pleasantly. One more slow blink of those big, brown eyes nearly black in the darkness, and her other hand lifted lazily between them, slender fingers brushing against his jaw.

"He's okay, Ichigo."

"Hmm? Thank you, Hime. We'll see in the morning."

"No. He is okay now."

Sleepy words, sleepy thoughts. He kissed her forehead and settled in to get some sleep, the sight of her soothing away the troubles of the day, at least for a little while.

ooooooooooOOOOOOOOOOoooooooooo

Dark blue was a nice color, very soothing, easy on the eyes, and it was covering everything. Not thinking clearly at all, he wondered if he had been drugged again as he turned his head toward the brighter light. He'd never seen anything quite like it, like a fine oil lamp but with a glowing lump of something dark where the oil would be, a strange, slow kind of blue fire, short flames dancing in slow motion across the top with no wick to focus it. It gave off just enough light to tame the darkness lurking in the corners of the room, but not enough light to hurt if you looked right at it, and he was, staring, in fact, hypnotized.

Thoughts trickled in, like they always do, invading the peace and mystery of the blue fire. He felt strange. It took longer than it should to figure out that he felt . . . fine. For the first time in ages, it seemed, though in truth it had only been what, seven, maybe eight weeks since he woke up in a coffin in the back of a slow wagon to Hell?

Nothing hurt. His mind was slow, but only in that confused, drowsy way of waking in a strange place, still half-asleep. Nothing hurt. Not his throat, no constant, dull agony or the stabbing knife whenever he swallowed or spoke. Not his shoulder where the flesh had been seared, blistered, and left to rot. Not his chest, hips, back, or . . . other parts that had throbbed with a faint, sweet pain he did not resent.

 _Nothing hurt._ And wasn't it a sad state of affairs when his body had trouble recognizing the feeling of _not_ feeling pain?

Recent memory said it should hurt, all that and more should hurt. He had been unable to breathe, his heart clenching, nerves on fire until he was certain he was dying. And the last thought he could remember was regret. Regret that Ichigo was not there, as he was not now. Regret that he never had a chance to resolve the conflicting feelings he had about a man who fascinated him.

Deep and aching regret that Ichigo would never know him, not truly, just a slave that had once been entertaining for a few days before foolishly getting himself killed. Would any of this have changed? If he had told the prince his history, would it have mattered at all? At least then he would know whether the man who owned him cared one way other about him.

His hands dragged against a sheet rougher than the satin on his massive bed; his shoulder that didn't hurt pushing a little against a mattress that was not luxuriously soft. Sitting propped on his hands, the white of the bed a pretty, rippling dark ocean of blue light and shadow, he looked away from the lamp to the bare little room, barely big enough for the bed, a bedside table, an empty chair.

No mirrors. Every room in this place had mirrors, unbelievably clear and perfect mirrors unlike the slightly flawed or cloudy glass-work of home. Well, he did not need to see his entire body, the bruises on his wrists, the marks of teeth and sucking mouth that should be there as he parted the white-blue robe, gone. He recognized the birth of yet another regret, and wondered at it, wondered at how far he had fallen into this life that he was saddened by the absence of the wounds that carried the reminders of passion.

Get up and open the door, find out where he was? Some kind of infirmary, no doubt, and he must have been here for a long time for the wounds to have vanished without a trace. But he didn't feel the stiff soreness of prolonged inactivity nor the hunger of sleeping for days. No, he felt as if the dream he had woken from was real, that he was home and healthy and free, a young man coming into his prime with the world open to him.

Carefully, he laid himself back down, shoving the sheet aside to cover only his feet. He needed to reset his foolish brain, remember where and who he was now before facing reality and all its disappointments. Staring at the shifting blue against the off-white ceiling, his finally clear mind organized and analyzed, recalling every event that took his life from bad to worse.

Someone was crying, the sound muffled by walls and distance, the kind of messy, painful snuffling of one who has been weeping in silence too long. That helped. He closed his eyes, trying to relax back into sleep as he listened to the sorrowful reminder that his new place in this twisted world was one of struggle against misery.

Unbidden, as always, his sleepy subconscious rebelled against giving in to despair, bathing him in the scent of clove and the warmth of skin over solid muscle. A sigh, an acknowledgment that misery was not all he was struggling against.

ooooooooooOOOOOOOOOOoooooooooo

It had only been a few days. Still, it felt odd to be back in the infirmary where he had spent the past few years. He busied himself with simple things, sweeping the floor, tidying the supplies, changing the water pitchers by the three occupied beds in the main hall. Title of apprentice or not, Hanataro never considered himself above such tasks, and Unohana would not have tolerated him shirking the most basic of duties when she did not hold herself above scrubbing the floor if it was needed.

As for the one occupied private room, he tried not to let his eyes drift to the faint hint of green light too often, tried not to feel the twinge of jealousy that the healer had called on the princess instead of him. He knew that he was not gifted that way, though he could manage some magic, more than anyone else besides Unohana. That's why he studied so hard, to make up for the lack to cure wounds and illnesses nearly instantly. It was his knowledge of poisons and treatment that had saved Toshiro long enough for Unohana to get to him. But it was his lack of magical talent that had him here, on the other side of the door.

By the time he had done everything there was to do, the door was still closed, the two women still working by the glow from under the door. His old quarters were larger than the ones attached to the favorite mistress' chambers, and far preferable. The bottom floor room had a wide window looking out on the gardens, letting in the clean scents of the medicinal herbs planted close to the infirmary. It was not always peaceful, wounded patients sometimes waking him. But here, there was no chance of having to lie awake in misery, the cotton stuffed in his ears not enough to block out the haunting sound of moans and the screaming of another man's name.

Would he ever get to hear his name called like a prayer? It was still possible; he would not give up the plan to save Toshiro from this fate. He would never leave his lover bruised and unable to walk. He would never treat a fiercely proud and intelligent man like some kind of toy, chained and cruelly used even when injured. If he could just get Toshiro away from this place, he knew the foreign beauty would see just how much he had to offer, how good they could be for each other.

Thoughts like this led to fitful sleep, filled with plots of the escape through the desert to the lush land he had read of, Seireitei, where he and Toshiro could live. Or they could go somewhere else, Rukongai maybe, where his skills could earn him a place as a healer and there were no slaves, no princes. He dreamed of it, a humble beginning until his fame spread. He would provide every comfort, and Toshiro was so smart, maybe they would work together, become the most renowned healers in the great city.

He woke from a pleasant dream turning sour. He and Toshiro had been in bed, in a room with a balcony, the doors open and the morning light seeping in. But they wouldn't rise yet, cuddling close together, the pale beauty smiling as Hanataro kissed him, then suddenly looking so very sad. The fresh light faded, the dream darkening with his love's tears, quiet sobbing that Hanataro couldn't stop, shaking shoulders under his hands, and none of his words were answered as he begged to know what was wrong.

" _Stay with me, my love_."

But the crying continued, awful cries that were painfully choked.

" _Ichigo . . ."_

His dream heart cracked with sorrow even as he grew angry. Even now, after saving his love and taking care of him and giving him his heart, there was still that shadow between them. How could Toshiro stand to say that name, the name of the man who had kept him a slave, chained him, tortured him, tried to break his spirit?

A louder sob and confusion, a deep voice growling a curse, and the dream started to fall away. The voice was from the infirmary, the sobs strangled again but still audible, and he rubbed at bleary eyes. This was part of his duties, the reason he slept close by, tending to the patients overnight if any called out. His weariness pushed back out of necessity, he made it to his feet and pulled on a heavier robe, shoved his feet into the slippers, and turned up the oil lamp.

Sparing a glance at the private room, he saw only a hint of blue light. The healing was done, then, Toshiro was safe. He resisted the urge to go look for himself, knowing how Unohana would react to such an intrusion, and turned the other way into the main patient quarters.

The old man in the bed closest to the door was sound asleep, heavily drugged and not likely to last another day. A slave, normally he would not be given a place in the royal infirmary. But the man had once been a tutor of the king, and the king had insisted on the best care. Unohana would not use magic on him, age would take its toll.

The second bed, given some privacy with screens, was occupied by a large man of middle age and rather ugly appearance, not helped by the stitches across his cheek or the bloody bandages around his middle. This was the one who had cursed, woken by the noise in the final bed. The soldier grumbled at him to 'shut the little cunt up' and Hanataro just bobbed his head, knowing from experience that soldiers would lose their temper if you tried to reason with them or even apologize. But they would also cease being difficult if you simply took care of the problem.

So he came to the third patient, a figure about his own size and wrapped so thoroughly in bandages that there would be no way to know who it was, if it was male or female, or what was wrong had he not been briefed by the nurses. The dirty smell of calendula mixed with aloe assaulted his nose as he entered the small, shrouded space. The patient's hands were thick mitts, tied securely down to prevent rising or attempting to undo bandages. She had managed to rub her face repeatedly against the pillow, then the mattress, pushing aside the thinner bandages over eyes that were leaking streams of tears. Along with the snot staining all around the openings for nose and mouth, all the facial wrappings were a disgusting mess.

The cabinet by each bed was stocked with appropriate supplies for each case. After setting out bandages, ointment and scissors, he prepared a glass of water with several drops of a blended pain-killer and sedative before pulling the stool close to the bedside. He could not reach out and try physical comfort, not with a burn victim. So he pitched his voice low and as soothing as he could manage.

"Hello. Please, don't be afraid. I'm a healer. You were hurt, and I'm going to help you, okay? I need you to calm down for me. You're safe."

He kept talking, repeating the promises of help and safety. The nurse had said the patient was found in the desert, nearly dead from exposure, burnt and dehydrated. It was something he had seen before, and he never forgot that it was meant to be his own fate, left as a child to the desert's mercy. The exposed skin around her eyes, though, thin skin that should be quite damaged was not. Her dark eyes were merely red from crying, not bloodied and ruptured. Lips that ought to be cracked and peeling looked chapped but not ravaged.

Either the nurse had been misinformed, or Unohana had been busy before Toshiro had been poisoned. That would explain why she needed a second source of energy.

The patient had finally become quiet, looking straight up and struggling to breath calmly. If she was healed, he could touch her without hurting her. The pain-killer would still help, putting her back to sleep.

"They said your name is Momo. I'm Hanataro. I'm going to put your pillows back, Momo, so you can relax, okay?"

The words were just to keep the soothing atmosphere, his hands moving with the confidence of a healer, leaning her forward before she realized it and placing pillows under her shoulders and head.

"Good, thank you, Momo. Now, you must be thirsty. This is water with some medicine to help you. It's going to help you heal, Momo. Drink now, that's right, little sips, a little more."

This was nearly automatic by now, so many times he had silenced and put patients back to sleep. His mind was already several steps ahead, his hands following to cut away the soiled bandages, not at all surprised to find skin pink and likely sensitive but not burnt and leathery. He knew that Unohana masked her ability sometimes by not completely healing and then continuing to treat patients, so he pulled on a glove and dipped his fingers into the ointment. The skin could use more time, and the coverings would hide the miraculous speed of recovery.

"Toshiro . . ." What? He'd ignored her muttering, but could he have heard that correctly?

"What did you say?"

The girl, young, maybe not even of age yet, flinched and he realized his tone had become severe after such effort to soothe.

"Momo, I didn't hear you," he said carefully, watching his fingers spread the salve instead of staring at her like he wanted to, "what did you want to tell me?"

She was silent, the big, brown eyes darting to him and away.

"It's alright, you can tell me later. I'm just here to help you. I'll help you heal and feel better, and then I'll help you get home or whatever you need, okay? I'll be checking on you; you just tell me anything you need."

"I . . . is this Las Noches?"

Her voice was quiet, timid. How did such a young and delicate thing end up in the desert? Toshiro was from far away, beyond two other massive lands. If this girl knew him, had she come that far? Perhaps they had traveled together and been separated.

"It is Las Noches, the royal palace. You'll get the very best care here, and you'll be up and healthy in no time. Do you have family or friends here? I can find them for you, bring them here."

A promise he couldn't keep, unless . . .

"I'm looking . . ."

"Yes?" He paused and looked at her with an encouraging smile, deliberately putting a little more ointment on her cheek like a caress. Hanataro had never really tried to trick someone like this, but he had to know. The sedative, she'd had enough to make her mind a little fuzzy, lower her guard. He hoped it wasn't enough to put her to sleep. The glass was still more than half full. "Who are you looking for?"

"My betrothed, Hitsugaya Toshiro. Do you know him?"

Betrothed?

"Toshiro?" He tried to look thoughtful, probably succeeding since his mind was spinning. He supposed a slave could be engaged, why not? Toshiro had said slavery was very different, nearly outlawed in his land. "I don't think so. You're engaged? It's important we let him know you're here then. What does he look like? I see a lot of people without really meeting them. Does he have any features I might remember?"

"Yes, oh, yes, you'd remember him. He has pure white hair, and the most beautiful eyes, they're like the ocean, only prettier."

"Alright, alright, hush now." It was as much a reminder to himself to stay calm. "Shh, there are other patients sleeping."

"Sorry, sorry," the girl practically vibrated with excitement but did lower her voice. "It's just . . . I've come so far, and I'm so worried about him. Everyone is so worried, everyone just wants him to come home. So, I came to bring him back, because I love him and . . ."

"Easy now, slow down. If he's here, I'll help you find him. You need to tell me everything, though. I need to know all about your Toshiro, so I can find him, okay?"

"Okay, yes, what do you want to know?"

"Well, let's start with where you both are from."

"We're from Seireitei. It's very far away. But I made it. Only, everything was a lot more expensive than I thought. I should have brought more money. And someone stole my horses when I was sleeping, buying another one without one to trade cost so much. And then robbers in Rukongai took my new horse and all my things, but I had some jewels sewn in the hem of my shirt, and I made it to the desert. But it was so big, and there wasn't enough water, my horse died . . ."

"Wow, you are very brave, Momo. And you did make it, you're here now. So, tell me about Toshiro."

"Oh, Toshiro is Lord of the South, he's very important, one of the king's council. His parents died, though, and he was supposed to take control of his father's lands this winter, and then he'd marry me, and one day he'd inherit his uncle's title, too. Only, he disappeared. Someone stole him, they say . . ."

Hanataro listened in stunned silence as the girl rambled, sounding a little drunk thanks to the sedative. He believed every word, though, every single word that shone light on the mystery of the slave with a scholar's mind and a noble's honor.

Toshiro would never be his, now. He had a home, a family, a lordship and a wife-to-be who loved him enough to throw her life away in a monumentally stupid effort to rescue him. He'd known it, somewhere in the back of his mind, he'd known the beautiful slave was too far above him even without the emeralds. The dream of being the one to rescue Toshiro and provide him with a life full of love and respect was just that, a dream.

Only for the briefest instant did the worst part of him think of the alternative. Silence this girl permanently, rescue Toshiro and hide him away from any others that might seek him. Or simply let Toshiro stay as he was, never to be his but at least within reach to share meals and books and confidences.

He cringed at the dark thoughts, stomach roiling in disgust. Of course, he wouldn't do such things. He was not like the rest of them, not like his family or the lords who only thought of their own desires, he wouldn't allow himself to be. He loved Toshiro and Toshiro loved this girl. He turned his mind toward the girl, focusing intently on her story. He would wait until he knew as much as possible before deciding what to do about them both.

ooooooooooOOOOOOOOOOoooooooooo

* * *

 **A/N - I hereby swear to all of you that I will stop with all the damn plots and throw some serious action in the next chapter.**

Thanks, _**AdriaTyler**_ \- promise I'm not trying to kill you with cliffhangers :)

Thank you again _**Beebo85**_ \- I haven't forgot Yumi and Ikkaku! Do you like this Ichigo? He's dark, much more broody and conniving, but I tried to keep his spirit in there.


	32. Enemies

**Chapter 32**

 **Enemies**

 _The best weapon against an enemy is another enemy._

 _~ Friedrich Nietzsche_

* * *

She wasn't terribly surprised to find him gone, blinking at the empty space and thinking it may have just been a dream. But his scent was there, clinging to the pillow and the wrinkled sheets. The world came rushing back all at once, the healer and the tingling that has passed all the way through her and how right it had felt, how at peace she had been as she focused on nothing but opening herself up to the green light. Seeing Toshiro's face, the pain too much even for his unconscious mind, watching the agony fade, fade, until he shared in her peace and tranquility.

Suddenly in a hurry to leave the comfortable bed, she sat up too quickly and was hit with a wave of nausea and pangs of hunger at the same time. The healer had warned her that she would need lots of rest, food and water. It was already bright and hot, she must have slept right through breakfast. Taking it more slowly, she slipped out of bed and padded through the open doors on bare feet.

The meal set out in her sitting room was already quite cool. Her husband had woken and left, someone had come and gone to set the table, and she didn't remember waking at all after the hazy memory of Ichigo pulling her close to him and telling her to sleep.

Energy returning with some anxiety at missing the entire morning, she eyed the whole pomegranate with longing. It would take too much time. A handful of dates and she rushed to the the bathroom to at least wash herself off, chewing the pulpy flesh off a hard pit as she walked.

Where was Tatsuki? Why didn't her friend wake her earlier? No point asking as she hurried through a cool bath, brushed the night's knots out of her hair, and dressed in one of the more basic dresses, that is, one that had a fuller, loose skirt and wasn't embroidered with a fortune of gold and silver.

The hallway was quiet, too, and she nodded at the two guards that bowed silently and then started following her. One, at least, didn't wear a mask over his face, making him seem human if not friendly. He was copper-skinned and vaguely handsome, or he would be if he didn't look carved from stone.

The usual murmur of voices from the lower level grew as she walked toward the grand staircase. But she froze as she heard something else, a quiet, choked sob followed by a curse and a series of sniffles. Turning around, she saw no one else, no guards outside of doors, no servants. Her own guards didn't question, just followed as she headed back past her door and farther.

About halfway to the eerily empty end of the hall she spotted the dark recess of a narrow spiral staircase, and the small bundle of white-clad sadness hugging her knees with her back against the wall. The woman hadn't heard her coming, the guards as silent as shadows and her own silk-clad feet barely whispering in the thick carpet.

"Hello," the woman yelped and jumped to her feet, fear, anger, back to fear before she ducked down in a bow. "No, none of that now. I'm the one who startled you and disturbed your quiet place, I think. Oh, I remember you!"

"Your Royal Highness."

One strangely colored eye, a shade of light cherry brown that was nearly pink, flashed up at her and then at the assassins flanking her, fear turning to terror. Black hair pulled loose from ties almost hid the other eye, swollen shut, skin dark red and promising to purple. Back down in a deep bow, and Orihime could see the trembling, hear the short gasps. She stepped forward, foregoing caution to wrap one arm around the bent shoulders and push a little, getting the woman to step forward and pushing more. They were three steps into down the hall before the poor thing stiffened, but by then it was too late.

"We'll get you something cool to drink and a comfortable place to cry, okay? And you can tell me about it or not, just keep me company a while. Don't you worry about them, they'll stay outside the door, once one of them runs to get us something, right?" She glanced at the bigger guard, seeing a slight crack in the stone as he forgot not to be surprised at the demotion to errand-boy. "I know, lemonade. That always cheers me up, and between you and me, I could use some cheer."

By the time they reached her door, held open politely by assassin-turned-servant, the woman had completely forgotten to resist, letting Orihime shuffle her in and sit her down at the small table still covered with food.

"Help yourself to anything, though the meat and vegetables have gone cold. Oh, there's still a little ice in the water!"

"You . . . you shouldn't . . ."

"Nonsense. It's just us two here, and I owe you for coming to get me yesterday. Besides, I'm rather alone here. I could use some girlfriends."

"I'm not . . .," the sudden burst of anger was gone almost immediately, replaced by a practiced civility. "I'm a servant, highness."

"Oh? So was I, in a way, until, my goodness, was that just two days ago? Doesn't matter to me. I mean, if I can only be friends with women my rank, that leaves me with the royal mistresses. No one needs friends that badly."

A dainty hand flew to thin lips, stifling a gasp or, possibly, a laugh. She smiled as she poured ice-water in a glass for the woman, barely more than a girl by appearances but that likely made her older than Orihime. Then she poured more on a large cloth napkin and held it out. The hand stayed in place, the undamaged eye staring at her offering like it was a snake.

"My name is Orihime. I'm a woman, too. I've been hurt, too. Take it."

She did, slowly, and dabbed at her tear-streaked cheeks a bit before pressing the cold cloth to her eye with a rough sigh.

"Thank you, highness. I should be going. My mistress will be wanting me."

"I said, my name is Orihime. You haven't told me yours."

"It's Loly, your . . ."

"Orihime. Pleased to finally meet you, Loly. Now, tell me, did your mistress do that to you?"

She could see the debate in the shifting glance, the servant afraid to betray and anger her mistress. But Orihime knew she couldn't let this chance go. Not after what Shutara had done, whispering in the Kenpachi's ear to fuel his rage at Orihime, sending her assassin son after Toshiro. If there was any advantage to be had here, she had to find it.

"I could help, you know. Or I'll promise not to ever say a thing, and just help by listening. I remember you. I remember how she lashed out at you for spilling a drop of water at dinner. It isn't okay, you know. Servant, slave, princess, it doesn't matter. It isn't okay to treat people like she treats you."

"Why do you care? If you cared, you'd have done something."

"You're right. I should have, and I wish I had. I can only say I was scared, too. I didn't know anyone, and I was afraid of her. I still am. I'm alone and new here, but now I know that being afraid and letting her hurt people for no reason, that's not okay. I've only been here a few days, and Shutara nearly killed someone I care about, twice. So, if you don't believe I'm your friend, believe I'm her enemy."

Loly looked amazed, and then even more frightened, and Orihime knew the woman wouldn't rely on her, a stranger, to help against the most powerful of the mistresses, even just for the comfort of someone to complain to. Now, if she had any power of her own to impress the woman whose spirit had been battered even more than her body . . ..

She rose, the servant watching her closely and leaning away as she knelt by the woman's chair. Her hand on the thin shoulder was enough to make Loly freeze, and Orihime took the damp cloth from the small hand, gently placing it on the swollen eye again with a smile. She didn't know if this would work, if she was capable of it, so she didn't make any promises, focusing her thoughts on the feeling of peace and the flow of energy in time with her steady pulse, recalling how it felt to connect to another body's energy. Loly's pulse was fast, her energy erratic, but it did not matter. She could feel it, could help direct it, moving it to meet the flow of her own energy beneath her fingers, through the cloth.

The gasp did not break her calm concentration, and she pressed down a little on Loly's shoulder to prevent her from pulling away. The damage was new, not extensive, traumatized skin and broken blood vessels, bruised bone but unbroken, the eye, thankfully, protected from the blow. It would be much easier and faster than the complicated work the healer had to do on Toshiro.

She hummed, feeling contentment spread through her as she gave of herself to help another, so very pleased that it was working. It seemed like mere seconds when she felt that the wounded flesh was whole, and her awareness returned. So close, the woman looked even younger than her, especially since she was crying again, staring at her.

"I'm sorry, Loly. Don't be afraid. I'm a healer."

Her hand and the cloth dropped away, replaced by delicate fingers prodding at the cheekbone and eyelids.

"You . . . you're a sorceress!"

She blinked at the excited exclamation and smiled.

"That's right. Now you see? I can protect you."

ooooooooooOOOOOOOOOOoooooooooo

"This fucking sucks."

Shinji flashed a wicked grin at the youngest member of the Visored, not showing her any mercy. Hiyori was never happy about anything, always complaining, so he might as well get some amusement out of her suffering.

"Hardly the kind of thing a sweet little angel like you should say."

"Shut the fuck up, baldy! No one asked you!"

"Look, Hiyori, if we had a choice . . ."

"You'd do it anyway."

She was right, so he just shrugged and grinned again, watching Lisa add another layer of taffeta fluff to the rather repulsive display. Hiyori was lost in a cloud of pink and white lace, pearls and crushed crystal. With her hair tamed, curled, and dyed honey-brown, freckles covered with smooth base and blush, eyes changed to sapphire blue, only her scowl and foul language between painted lips gave her away. She looked ridiculous, not to mention disgusting when you considered the point of the costume. But then, whorehouses were often disgusting places.

"Believe me," Lisa mumbled around the two large pins between her teeth, "if we could find a way for me to look like a preteen . . . I actually want to go. The Crowned Serpent is legendary."

"Pervert."

Lisa didn't deny the charge, chuckling as she responded, "Just remember not to kill anyone. They aren't supposed to touch you, but they will."

"Gross."

Getting an invitation to the fancy whorehouse had turned out to be difficult, thanks to some party, a party their target was invited to. The usual strategy of taking the place of a guest wouldn't work, the only attendees being regulars who would be hard to imitate on short notice. And slipping in with the hired help was tricky, since the place had enough permanent staff that the only hired help were the 'party favors.' Little angels, the messengers of the goddess of love, boys and girls dolled up and sent into the lion's den. Off limits to touch . . . _right_ , of course they were.

"I'll burn the place to the ground if anyone so much as lays a finger on you."

Big, falsely blue eyes blinked at him, shimmering with tears as small hands wrung together.

"Awww, Shinji, you do care about me." She scoffed and bared her teeth. "How was that, baldy, angelic enough for you?"

Kensei's timing was flawless, walking in and saving him from having to reply. The big guy took one look at the fluffy cloud surrounding the powdered and primped girl and decided, wisely, to flop into the chair facing Shinji with his back firmly to the women.

"How did it go?"

"The soldiers going with the prince are solid, no chance to bribe anyone there. Any soldiers from the Senjumaru family are under close watch. But they have allies, distant relatives, subordinate clans. There's a team of eight planning to ambush the prince before the raid. Likely to fail. But now they have our repeater crossbows, so who knows, might get in a lucky shot."

"Good. Lisa spent the night as a lowly street sweeper, placing a great number of bombs, traps, and weapon caches along our potential escape routes and the likely routes of pursuit. I placed similar, smaller distractions in and near the palace yesterday, and delivered temptation to a few less visible players that may or may not cause some chaos. And our pretty angel over there made sure that several of the north and east gate guards will be enjoying their last day of duty. Even if they live til evening, they won't be much of an obstacle."

"Tick, tock."

Kensei looked good with long hair, he decided. They were all in disguise, of course, Shinji was on his third persona this trip. It would be over soon. Heading home. Leaving Los Noches behind. Too bad. Maybe he could get assigned here. Gods knew the few agents from Seireitei hadn't made any inroads into the power structure, barely any contacts or information worth having. Well, Hueco Mundo was so far away that there were no real relations between the kingdoms, only scant trade carried out by families, not the royals. The spies here were likely just people the crown wanted to get rid of.

"There you go. What do you think, Shinji? Some glitter for her cheeks?"

"Oh, fuck no."

"Nah, leave the fresh look. Teach her not to scowl though, or cap off that snaggletooth, at least."

Bless Lisa's reflexes, saving him a foot to the face. Saving herself from having to repair the monstrosity of a dress she'd just finished, more like.

oooooooOOOOOooooooo

Hungry enough to clamber out of the narrow bed despite feeling oddly light-headed, he had found the door locked. Not knowing who or what was on the other side, he simply thanked providence, the gods being on his bad side after the shit he'd been through, for the chamber pot lined with absorbent ash he found tucked under the bed, the small wash basin, and the glass pitcher of water on the bedside table which he drained. It didn't make sense to be so tired when he'd likely slept for days, and yet he fell asleep as soon as he'd sprawled over the top of the blankets. Hours or minutes or days later, he woke to the door opening and the smell of food.

"Toshiro?"

Déjà vu, in bed with Hanataro leaning over him and a tray full of food he would beg for.

"Are you awake?"

Déjà vu, the intelligent healer asking the stupidest questions possible. He was looking at the man, wasn't he?

"Hanataro, what happened?"

He pulled himself up, still tired but quite fine physically, and once again marveling at the forgotten feeling of health. Propped against the wall behind the bed, he grabbed the tray from Hanataro's hands and settled the entire thing over his knees.

"The last thing I remember was telling you about that bastard Shukuro and being in a lot of pain. Then I woke up here."

"Toshiro, listen to me," the tone was so oddly serious that he paused, a thick piece of bread stuffed with spiced meat held between his teeth.

"We have to get you out of here. You can't argue with me this time."

He bit down, slowly chewing the huge mouthful which his growling stomach was calling for insistently. Last time, he had shut Hanataro down, told him to stop even thinking such things for fear of one or both of them being labeled traitor. But in the dark room tinted with blue light, he'd had time to think, perhaps the first hours he'd had with a clear mind not distracted by panic, pain, anger. The young healer leaned closer, voice a whisper, and he listened.

"You were poisoned. You should have died; if Unohana hadn't been here you would have died. It was never safe for you here, and it's going to get worse."

"I know. But this isn't safe, either, Hanataro. You know running is impossible. How long was I . . ."

"No, you aren't listening!" He blinked at the flash of anger, something he had never seen from the usually centered and placid man and took another bite to stop himself from arguing.

"It's the prince that did this to you."

No. No, that couldn't be true. Even if there was no trust or affection, Ichigo had no reason to want him dead, at least. He swallowed hard, not wanting his own fears confirmed, but still he listened.

"I've been thinking, and listening, and it's the only explanation. He used you as bait, Toshiro, all along. It's what they do, and Prince Ichigo is famous for it. He fawned over you and gave you emeralds. He made his enemies think you were precious to him so that they would come after you and give him a good reason to attack when his enemies are the king's allies."

Oh, that hurt. Even if Hanataro was wrong, _that hurt_. But it was so similar to his own reasoning as he had lied awake trying to figure out why the man in the garden had tried to kill him. It made sense, the logical part of his brain reminded him over the churning and useless emotions. Toshiro's life was not worth nearly as much as the life of an enemy, not here in the vipers' nest of Las Noches.

"How do you know this?"

"I . . .," to his credit, the healer didn't lie. The words rang true, but it wasn't likely the prince who trusted no one would give away so much. "I don't. But I know how it works here, you don't. And there's something else. Toshiro, the prince is going to find out who you are, very soon if he hasn't already."

"What do you mean, who I am?"

"I know. You don't have to lie to me. You never have to lie to me, Toshiro." He stared down at the hand that had come to rest far too familiarly on his thigh, pieces clicking together in his mind despite the shock of the healer's words. "I know about your past, I know you aren't . . . weren't a slave, and it's not going to be a secret much longer."

He was sure he was masking his suspicion and burgeoning fear, trying to appear as confused as he was. There was no way the man could know these things, though he had already concluded Hanataro was far cleverer than he appeared. Thoughts raced, trying to see the advantages he might gain, the risks he might take. And risks had to be taken now. Hanataro was right about at least one thing. He could not stay, not if he wanted to live. If Hanataro knew, then his owner would know. Perhaps the prince had always known, as he once suspected, and simply didn't care. It meant nothing here, free men were put in chains every day, with no concern ever given to rights or suffering.

"Toshiro," the healer's hand wrapped around his wrist to push the forgotten food away, other hand still on his thigh, leaning far too close. He had to force himself not to lash out, further confused by the outrage that flooded through him. His owner did not deserve the loyalty that he was feeling, the need to push the young man away and make it clear that he belonged to another. Was he so far gone that he had forgotten that he was not, in fact, a prideless creature to be owned and ruled?

"There's something I have to tell you, and you need to stay calm. I've spoken to your fiancé. She told me everything . . ."

"Are you mad? Get off me!"

The words had barely left his lips when the apprentice healer was gone, lifted off him and tossed harshly across the room to slam into the wall, brief scream cut off with a crash and a whimper. He had not heard the door, had not heard the steps, too distracted by the odd behavior and odder words. Food and drink scattered everywhere across the bed and floor as he lurched to get off the bed and onto his feet, but he froze, knees in the mess on the mattress.

Not distracted now, no, completely focused on the tall, angry, _furious_ man in front of him. The look on his owner's face was murderous, vicious, directed at the crumpled and groaning form of Hanataro. Even as he held his breath in dread of the killing blow that would erase the small healer, his conscience stung him for the instant arousal brought on by the terrible power evident in every line of bronze muscle and snarling lip.

Then, the brown eyes so intense and enraged that they practically glinted golden turned to him, the heat tuning to cold, anger fading into disdain, and he wanted to slump down, slink away from the accusation and the lack of any passion or compassion. Just like when he was on the ground weeping, just like when he was told to shut his fucking mouth because he was not trusted enough to tell the truth.

But his mind overruled emotion, and he moved closer to the deadly prince instead of cringing, keeping his eyes locked on those that seemed to pierce his soul. Brown eyes searched his face, then darted down to his neck. Something other than judgment broke through, orange brows arching in surprise.

"Master . . ."

"Silence. Not one word, pet."

He did not flinch, though the cold command stung. He was swept off the bed, no regard for the soiled clothes that would stain the prince's silk, and his arms instantly went around the bronze neck as his stomach dropped, left behind in long, swift strides. It was an infirmary, as he had guessed, with the typical beds between screens and a handful of people staring, including the dead-eyed healer and the big guard who was often near his owner.

"Chad. The apprentice is inside. Have him chained and gagged in the dungeon. No visitors. No exceptions."

"My prince, I must protest . . ."

Very brave, he thought, but even her blue eyes went down with a dip of the head after just a brief glare from the man cradling him like a child. He hid his face in the crook of the bronze neck, inhaling clove and heat as the prince moved again, thankful for just a moment to think. Nothing made sense, yet everything was rapidly becoming clearer, simpler. Nothing else mattered, except for one fact.

Enough. He'd had enough of this.

oooooooOOOOOooooooo

He did not have time for this. So simple, a gift with a very specific purpose had become a tool with great potential and now . . . what? Everything about the boy was complicated, convoluted, especially his own reactions and emotions when those huge jewel eyes met his without fear.

He deserved fear. The relief that had nearly drowned him when he saw his pet not only breathing but evidently unharmed had vanished in a blaze of fury. The words he had heard as he paused to open the door sank in along with the image of the mousy kid on the bed with his pet, hand wrapped around his pet's delicate wrist, hand on his pet's svelte thigh, whispering lips within inches of his pet's lips.

There was no honor in killing a healer, one small and timid and young. However, if the boy was so frail that being tossed against the wall crushed his fool skull, Ichigo would not mourn. And his pet, had it not been for the outrage in flashing turquoise and the angry words Toshiro had shouted at Hanataro, he may have done something truly regrettable. As it was, he was not certain at all that his pet did not belong in the cell next to the healer's boy.

He gathered his rage carefully, tempered it as he walked, not looking down at the precious bundle in his arms. Alive. He focused on that one fact, blood cooling and wonder creeping in as he walked. Remembering his dread to find Toshiro dead or irreparably injured, remembering his unfamiliar sense of regret, he clutched the silent bundle even closer. Whatever else may come, there was nothing as important now as the rapid breaths against his throat, the warmth between them that he had thought gone, sacrificed to his personal demons.

By the time he had hoisted his pet almost onto his shoulder to open the heavy door, his thoughts had shifted. There was much more to learn from Toshiro than why the apprentice spoke that way and why the little bastard had thought it acceptable to touch what belonged to Ichigo. These things were the least of all his sweet pet's mysteries. And _Toshiro was alive_.

There was a girl, yes, the younger Kotetsu girl messing with something in his pet's wardrobe, no threat. She passed out of his mind as he stopped, halfway to the bed, and pulled on white hair. Lovely eyes winced, then focused on his. Alive. Porcelain skin without flaw, swan neck pale, unbruised. Not the slightest split in the tender lips, his tongue confirming it. Toshiro hesitated, one heartbeat as he swiped at the soft lips, another heartbeat as he breathed against the damp skin and flicked his eyes back up to the shining jewels.

Then there was no more hesitation, the small, hot mouth open to him, lithe body twisting with that same strength he had witnessed when the young man curled himself around Kenpachi's arm to kick the monster's teeth out, twisting now to swing one leg down and drag it back up along the outside of his hip until they were pressed as close together as possible, legs tight around his waist.

A door shut, slammed, his feet moved toward the bed before his brain could stop him. They needed to talk. But the answers wouldn't change if talk waited a little while, surely? Great, now his brain was joining his body, and he caught his weight with one arm on the mattress as they fell, breaking away for just a second before giving in entirely.

His pretty pet struggled, too, he could see it, the glint of fear when he first grabbed the boy out of the infirmary, to the careful lack of any emotion at all when he snapped at his pet to stay silent. All of it gone now, lost in a storm of lust, the very storm he had sought to create in his unexpected gift, encouraged and cultivated. This was what he had hoped for, at least in part, and he could not resist the temptation he had custom created to seduce him.

"Toshiro . . ."

It took all his will to draw back, to confirm again the lack of injury. He had hurt his pet last time, he knew, a very rough introduction to pleasure. The little dragon had urged him on, shown every sign of enthusiastic enjoyment, even made it clear that he would like nothing more than to tear into his owner just as viciously. But he still felt a twinge of guilt, and it came to haunt him now, mauling the boy who had nearly died, again, with no concern.

Tearing at the flimsy robe, pushing the boy's arms away, he found unmarred flesh, pale and perfect. Not only the wounds received fighting, but the marks left by his own hands and teeth, all vanished without a trace. His protective side sighed in relief. The rest of him drooled over the blank canvas. All the while the big eyes gazed at him, desire evident in dilated pupils and flushed cheeks, yet with something else shining through, something analytical and far too perceptive.

"How?"

Recollection of the horrid moment he was told by one of Yoruichi's team that his mistress was poisoned and possibly already dead slowed his hand to caress the racing pulse and down to unmarked chest. One of the elegant hands came to rest on top of his, following his movements, while the other reached to push fingers and palm into his hair.

"How what, master?"

Neutral, cautious. Fair enough. He had not been predictable nor kind. A faint sigh rewarded him for the gentle kisses on the white throat, and he spoke against the shoulder he had bit hard enough to leave precise prints of his teeth, prints that were gone. His hand slipped under that shoulder, seeking and finding the ridges of scar tissue. That wound healed, then, but not erased, no flinch of pain as his fingers traced the brand, the lovely body not completely relaxed but still and cooperative.

"You were injured. You were dying, my little dragon. I thought I'd lost you. And yet here you are. How is this possible?"

The sweet, smooth voice did not reply, only a slow moan as Ichigo slid his hand down to firmly grip at hollow of the sharp hip before pushing loose cloth drawers down. That hand was still on his, doing nothing but ride along with his movements, and he had no idea why that was so erotic. The willingness, perhaps, the gesture one of approval and encouragement but so very quiet, submissive, just as the other hand that trailed through his hair while he shifted his lips to find the racing pulse.

What little control he had left was slipping, and the minx didn't make it any easier, tipping his head back to bare his neck, pressing skin closer to his teeth. And oh, how badly he wanted to replace every vanished mark, redecorate every lovely inch. But then there was the guilt, a thing he was not familiar enough with to fight or to ignore, and he stopped sucking on the warm, thrumming artery, leaving perhaps the lightest bruise before pushing himself up and waiting for bright eyes to open again.

"How, pet? Tell me what happened."

The boy looked confused for a moment, then thoughtful, then back to wary. Was the only time he would see his pet totally open and honest when he had the young man pinned and panting?

"I . . . master, I don't know. There was a man I met in the garden, Shukuro. Not long after, I . . ."

"I know, Toshiro. You were poisoned. It was an attack against me."

Another twinge of guilt twisted within him as the wide eyes narrowed, such a useless feeling. One does as one must, as he had done to achieve his goals; there was no point feeling guilty about doing what is necessary. Yes, he had known Shutara would make an attempt on Toshiro's or Orihime's life. Yes, he had provoked such an attack with barely a warning given to his lover or his wife. No, he was not about to apologize for it.

But his pet asked for no apology, made no accusations, even though he wouldn't doubt that the clever young man had figured out at least that much. It wasn't fear of him, or fear of what he might do to others like the healer's apprentice. There was more to Toshiro than that, and wasn't it simply delightful to not know what the boy was thinking?

"What happened after you were taken to Unohana?"

Shrewd eyes dropped, watching the delicate fingertips skimming down from his hair, along his jaw, down his neck, trailing feather-light and maddening from one collarbone to the other. He had thought to create a lover that could have the court on its knees. He needed to be careful, feeling himself get wrapped around those very fingers. Every move his little enigma made had him watching, wondering, trying so hard to figure out what was happening inside that pretty head. Ichigo had never had a hard time reading people, it was nearly instinctive. Until now.

"I don't remember being taken to the infirmary. The last thing was Rangiku and Hanataro, they were frightened, and everything hurt, I couldn't speak or even breathe. Then, I was dreaming about . . . I woke up in a dark room, slept again, and woke up to Hanataro and food. I must have slept for days.

"Master," the petting along his throat stopped, voice growing tight. "Hanataro . . ."

Not wise, and he felt anger reawaken, felt the tension in his body and the one below him as the boy met his eyes. There was obvious deliberation, and he kept his mouth shut to see what Toshiro would choose. Would his pretty pet beg for the healer's apprentice? Try to manipulate him, thinking to use wiles Ichigo had taught him to sway his decisions? This was why he was careful with his lovers, why he hadn't taken any mistresses on his own. So soon, they think they own you.

"He has never done anything like that before. I don't know why he . . . got so close, but I thought you should know."

"That is all you wish to say?"

The fingers resting at the base of his neck resumed their sensual exploration as the boy slowly nodded. And just as slowly, he started to calm. Clever pet.

"You will not beg for his life?"

"I suspect Hanataro may have saved my life. But I cannot speak to his intentions, nor to the offense he has given you. You are his prince, and mine."

There was no lie he could find in strangely serene face, no lie in the touches distractedly trailing down to rest warm palm over his heart, no lie in the hardness close to his hand that held the bony hip. There was a new mystery here, and he laid it at the feet of the deceptive healer. He had long known there was more to the woman than met the eye, more to her than just a healer with extraordinary knowledge. Too many had walked away from that infirmary who should have died. And then, there was the brutal way she had dealt with the Kenpachi. At the time, he was too grateful for the results of her work to question such ruthlessness in a healer.

"And his words? I will question him, my pet. I will know what he meant. Better you tell me why he believes you should throw away your life trying to flee Las Noches. Better you tell me about this fiancé of yours."

Toshiro's hand had stopped stroking, firmly resting on the curve of his shoulder. No doubt the boy felt the tension, a flicker of caution, not quite fear, and that stillness of a coming lie. His lips tightened, tempted to snarl. His little lover had been warned; now it was Toshiro's choice if he decided to test Ichigo's resolve.

"It's my fault. I was angry with him once, for feeling sorry for me. I told him if he pitied me that much, why didn't he just help me escape. I can't say I didn't mean it, but I . . . master, I can't help such thoughts, sometimes. Then I'm with you, and . . . things seem okay again."

"You are clever, pet."

He didn't say what was really on his mind, and years of practice hid the confusing mix of emotions. Toshiro hadn't denied the desire to escape and hadn't denied that he would think of it as escape, which meant the boy did not find his life here rewarding enough to let go of the past. Fair enough, considering what his pet had been through, nearly being killed twice, violently, painfully. But to not try to hide that from his master . . . and yet to hide so much else. His smile was cold, and the warm body beneath him, pressed so close, skin to warm skin, tensed in alarm.

"And the rest of it?" Nearly nose to nose, he held the wide gaze, searching for the lies. "'I've spoken to your fiancé. She told me everything.' What could the healer's boy possibly mean, my pet?"

"I have never lied to you. I have no fiancé, have not had any lover beyond what I've already told you. That was last summer, a woodworker's daughter, no one I could ever be promised to. I don't know what Hanataro was talking about."

Why should he be jealous? This was his pet, his slave if he chose, his lover or his prisoner. Everything Toshiro was or would be was his to keep or discard. So why the hot flare of possession, why the drive to claim? His head dipped, teeth finding the pulse he'd been careful to barely mark and biting down. The startled yelp and digging of nails into his shoulder and his hand made him let go as quickly as he'd bit, and he licked the broken skin, gratified by the choked moan beneath his tongue.

"A day, my strong little dragon. Less than a day ago you were nearly lost to me. It was my doing, but I will never put you in danger again. I'll never let anyone take you from me."

It took a second for confusion to become incredulity. It took only a second for his pet to respond as he gave in to the wonderful need to devour, the small mouth that his tongue filled like it was meant to live there opening eagerly, pressing closer. He meant every word. His unsought gift meant little to him when they met, a pawn easy to move onto the board. So quickly, he had fallen under the spell of this man he owned, beautiful, clever, refined, sensual, how could he bear to risk losing this?

Agile fingers were working quickly in the small space between them, undoing the buttons of his jacket and pushing silk aside to trail thin lines of fire across his ribs. So very bold, but thoughts of forcing his pet to be passive and compliant were pushed aside for the moment, indulging in the fierce passion he had uncovered. He shifted onto his knees beside the lithe body clothed only in scraps of cloth, freeing his arms to shrug off his jacket, the boy pushing himself up on knees to follow him.

There it was. Stunning eyes glittering up at him through thick curls of lashes, slight blush, face slightly averted, the very picture of genuine innocence turning into insatiable desire. This was what he had envisioned when he first saw his gift wrapped in black velvet and silver cloud, a sultry god any man or woman would beg to worship. It was there and gone in a heartbeat, but anyone who saw it once would remember it forever, in dreams, nightmares, delirious fantasies.

Laughing again, this time at himself for falling victim to his own pet siren, he pushed against the thin chest to step back, off the bed so he could slide out of the loosened pants. There was something undeniably erotic about the way those pretty eyes that used to avoid his body now latched on to his erection, darkening and going half-lidded. There was something even more erotic about the way he didn't have to bend down to reach glistening lips, the young man on his knees on the tall bed and shuffling right up to the edge of the mattress to press himself against Ichigo's body with a shamelessness that nearly made him weak in the knees.

A surprising amount of willpower was required to make him pull his tongue out of the lips that were sucking on it in a way that set his blood boiling. It didn't help that at some point during the long, luxurious kiss, his pet had started rubbing against him, hard cock and soft skin gently writhing in an way that made it obvious the motions were wholly involuntary. His arms wrapped tight around the thin torso, stilling the delightful movement while he drew his head back to search the now thoroughly glazed eyes.

"You certainly like kissing now, don't you, pet?"

His teasing earned a severe scowl, then a nip of his bottom lip as a thin arm wrapped around his neck to keep him from pulling farther away. He laughed into the hot mouth as he felt a hand work between their joined skin to skim down his stomach, bravery turning tentative as the slender fingers pressed along the trail of hair and down only to skitter shyly back up.

"I like a great many things you have taught me, master."

There were too many things they needed to talk about, too many mysteries that needed solving. And all of it would have to wait. If his father hadn't rid the world of Shutara by the time he returned from the raid, he would have to finish the bitch off himself, along with as much of her family as dared raise an objection. Then he could focus on settling his wife, an easier task than he had anticipated, and charting a clearer course with his pet, a far more complicated process than he had hoped.

Until then, there was nothing to be gained by arguing or accusing, or even questioning. If his pet was hiding something, better to give the boy time to worry, to come clean or to work himself into fear and anxiety and an inevitable mistake. If his pet was honest, then interrogating him only served to cause more mistrust between them. Much better to deepen his pet's addiction to him, an imminently enjoyable process.

"Well then, pet," a sudden pull and the light body was pressed again to his, lifted, turned, laid down underneath him. He did not miss the flash of excitement, the lack of fear, the quick and almost wicked smile. "Shall I teach you something new?"

oooooooOOOOOooooooo

Relief. Beyond the lingering anger and hurt at what his owner had done to him and to Hanataro, beyond the physical riptide of desire which he had no idea how to control, it was relief that flooded his mind with the familiar question, and he grinned up at the smug and almost threatening smirk. Toshiro told himself it was only relief to know he was safe from the prince's wrath a little while longer, hopefully long enough to put his tentative plan into action and escape this gilded prison. Yet he knew there was also the easing of his worry that he had lost what little affection, or at least lust, the man still had for him. Lose that, and he would lose any chance he had at freedom, he was certain.

That wasn't all. Lying to himself had never been easy, and there was genuine excitement in the purred _'please'_ he offered in answer. He no longer wanted to deny attraction, admiration, lust, even more so now that he expected it all to end. If he could not make good on his escape, he would almost certainly die trying. And if he did not die, his life here would change dramatically. That his owner seemed to forgive thoughts of escape was unexpected; he knew he would never be forgiven an actual attempt to flee.

Whatever the outcome, there were only so many more times he would feel the weight settling between his spreading thighs, a thing he never knew could cause his entire world to tremble. There were only so many more times that talented tongue would tangle with his until he nearly passed out happily from lack of breath. This could, in fact, be the last time, and his hands clenched at powerful shoulders as he thought of it, throwing his head back to welcome more kisses to his neck, painless kisses and taunting nips along skin no longer traumatized by another.

"Give them back."

"Hmm?" It was only when the man chuckled that he realized he'd spoken, and only when a more aggressive kiss bruised the top of his shoulder that he realized what he meant. Toshiro didn't really understand why waking to find every inch of his skin pale and clear, no visible reminders his lover. It seemed the prince understood, laying a series of new marks up his neck, drawing a hiss from him when the recently bitten skin was sucked between teeth again.

"Shh," he shivered as the hissing breath tickled across his damp neck, "I want you to relax for me, little dragon."

This was new. Demands, sometimes couched in soft tones, he was used to. Ichigo's tone had changed, soft and playful, as if this actually were a request, a wish Toshiro could grant or deny, rather than an order. He complied readily, loosening his hold, letting his body sink into the soft blankets, taking a deep breath and sighing it out slowly. The slowly widening smile was a fine enough reward; the sight of his lover straightening above him, leaning back on his heels with his powerful and very aroused body on display was even better.

It didn't seem to matter what this man did. At this moment, Hanataro was chained in a dungeon. Toshiro had no way to get to him, to help him, to question him about the strange things he had said. The prince might kill the healer's apprentice, and there was nothing he could do about it. Not that he was sure he should, reminding himself he'd only known Hanataro for a handful of days, and no one here seemed trustworthy.

More importantly, this man whose broad hand settled almost threateningly around his neck, fingers wrapping around sensitized flesh and trailing down, this man was the reason he'd been poisoned. The prince had known of the danger, that was crystal clear. It was always like this here, one day a brutal attack from a renowned warrior seeking to hurt or kill the princess, the next a subtle assassin seeking to harm the prince. He'd barely survived, and would surely die soon to another attack, and this man above him knew it. That's how much he was worth, and all the sweet words of admiration and possession changed nothing.

But then, there was that hand, spanning his entire chest, trailing down with a firm touch, and his own hand sought it out again, rested on the scarred skin and taut tendons. This could be the last time, and despite everything, Toshiro wanted this. His eyes raked the sculpted body, then sought the mirror above to see the new marks on pale skin, the big hand pushing lightly below his ribs, a reminder of the disparity of power, silver on bronze on silver.

"By all the gods, you're the most gorgeous thing . . ."

His snort was not as derisive as it would have been days ago. Never in his short life would he have believed such a thing, until he came here. Toshiro decided he would miss being considered desirable, along with the bliss, along with the scorching of his skin with every touch.

"Do you have any idea how ridiculous that is coming from someone who looks like you?"

That wicked hand was rubbing in circles, wrist almost, almost brushing against his aching cock.

"Why, sweet pet, is that a compliment?"

That snort was real, inelegantly falling into a bark of laughter.

"You will believe me someday, Toshiro."

Distracted from any reply by the expectation, his head tilted down to glare when that hand drifted up and away instead of continuing its path. He hated, and dearly loved, the way his lover could play his emotions, twisting to the extremities of anger and sadness to playful joy and searing desire.

"And gods help us all when you do."

His eyes widened, met with a soft, almost tender smile that made his foolish heart stutter.

"What . . . what do you . . . hey!"

Quick, efficient movements, his owner stepping out from between his legs, strong hands grabbing his hips and twisting, and before he could react, he was lying face-down, the warmth of two long legs encasing his from just above the knees. Instinct had him struggling to push himself up. Just as suddenly, he was thoroughly pinned, hands on either side of his head and forearms bearing weight down on his shoulders.

"Shhh," hot breath on the nap of his neck, he could see from the corner of his eye the large frame over him, dwarfing him, weight held partly up to not crush him but it was implied, how trapped and helpless he was between the heat above and the solid softness below. And against his thighs, nestled in the crease of his legs, the heavy, wet weight.

He bit his lip, concentrated on not lifting his ass and rubbing his thighs against that cock like the wanton thing his master had made him become. _Oh, but that is a lie_ , Toshiro thought as lips closed on the back of his neck. If anything, it was what his lover had allowed him to become. This wasn't forced, this heady excitement and dizzying lust. This wasn't something that had been done to him against his will, chains and lies notwithstanding.

"Here's what I want, little dragon." Unfair, all the advantages belonged to his lover and still he rewarded the insufferable arrogance in that honeyed voice with a whine. "You can move when you need to but try to be still. Close your eyes. Let yourself think of nothing but sensation. Can you do that for me, baby?"

There was no way to answer, his eyes slipping shut, his mind and body failing to relax but trying. His attention was snapped to the soft, gentle caress of lips on his left shoulderblade. It should hurt, but his automatic flinch was unnecessary. Like everything else, the pain had vanished. Yet it didn't feel quite right, the slide of lip and tongue across flesh not smooth. Scarred then. The brand remained, as it always would. He hadn't even thought of it before, and the wave of disgust was an unwelcome surprise.

"Shhh, don't fret. I'll give you all their heads, if you want, every one of them that brought you to me. Or their hands, if you prefer, each hand that held you down or held the iron."

 _And your hands_ , he thought, astonished to find the idea amusing rather than enraging, _your hands that hold me down now, that fastened chains on my wrists?_

"Soi-fon."

The kissing across his shoulder stopped. His eyes opened, but even with his head turned sideways, he could not glimpse the face hovering above his spine. The name hadn't just slipped out. He'd thought first of Ichimaru. That would have been a mistake, the prince and the king seemed to favor the snake. Did the prince also have ties to the bitch that captured him? Likely, and that meant he'd just crossed a line. Well, it was time to push boundaries; he had little left to lose.

"What was that, pet?"

"The bitch who put a collar on my neck. The bitch who commanded them to push me into the dirt while she burned me. The bitch who beat and cut me every time I questioned what was happening. Soi-fon. Her hands would do."

There came a clear reminder that the man above him was a dark and cold killer, the request for the maiming of a woman earning not a reprimand but a chuckle. And there came a clear reminder of his own darkness in the way that laughter made his hips jerk in arousal, his breath stolen by the beauty of the sinister promise of vengeance.

"You have interesting enemies, Toshiro, as one might expect for such a remarkable man. I'll see your debt paid. Now, enough talk."

With that he agreed, closing his eyes again, forgiving himself for surrendering and thinking of the hands that had not only held the brand but also delighted in inflicting pain for his every defiance. His master was right. In this yielding, in this sharing of pleasure, he had power.

Thoughts of revenge and escape and manipulation were slowly dampened by the scent of clove and sweat, the gentle and devastating dance of fingers, tongue, lips. He felt each breath against his back, along his limp arms, tickling his sides, breaths growing a bit ragged while his own deepened. As he allowed himself to obey, letting nothing but sensation fill his mind, he found his body absolutely drowning, sinking into a strange state between numb and acutely sensitive, each touch a surprise and yet somehow anticipated like the next step in a dance, the next piece slotting into a puzzle.

Time ceased, every inch of his back, his neck, his arms tasted and touched. It wasn't like the last time, the raging fire of their first and only full union marked with mutual need bordering on violence. No, it reminded him of being drugged, waking in that haze to a dream lover he wasn't sure was real. Only, this time, there was no confusion, the build of tension so very slow and easy and he knew exactly whose hands and mouth were keeping him docile and, yes, quite happy to just lie and feel.

Deep sighs gave way to broken gasps as one hand slid under him, finally giving his neglected erection something other than the faint friction of silk. But one stroke down from the tip, tight and pulling his skin perfectly, and the game changed yet again. Fingers split to frame the base of his cock rather too snugly, heel of the palm pushing up into the soft flesh above his pelvis, he both winced and groaned as he was lifted, the commanding hand between his shoulders making it almost impossible to adjust his position, hauled up into the press of larger hips, the familiar tantalization of stiff, damp flesh finding its way to rest between his cheeks.

"That's it pet, on your knees."

Gods, those words should not make him shudder in an effort to curb the flood of pleasure. The bruising pressure on his abdomen and his back should not make him keep his eyes closed and let his weight settle on knees and chest. Then his back was being stroked as dry desert air brushed like cold water across his fevered skin, his lover moving away, the world shifting slightly as the bed moved.

Contact returned, all the way down on his ankles, while he shifted his arms, crossed under his chest to take pressure off his neck. He'd experienced so much in such a short amount of time, from barely having been touched b another person in any way that could be construed as sexual, to having cum down another man's throat and being thoroughly ravished while voluntarily chained to a bed. How there could still be any part of him that still felt untouched and ready to be explored, he couldn't imagine. But there it was, the trailing of fingertips and warm palms up the backs of his calves, then turning to nearly wrap around above his knees and push.

He obeyed without a thought, shifting his knees until they were farther apart than his shoulders, glad his eyes were closed. That didn't stop him from knowing what kind of picture this made, a twinge of nearly forgotten pride making him grit his teeth. But what did that matter? What was the least bit shameful in this when his lover hummed in approval and his skin shivered at the ghosting of knuckles up his thighs, tickling the fine hairs. What did he lose by gasping in enjoyment when kisses returned to his spine?

In retrospect, Toshiro thought he should have predicted it. This man had thought nothing of taking Toshiro's cock in his hand when they'd never said a word to one another. He remembered the way his lover had buried his nose at the base of his cock and inhaled as if scenting the finest roses, the content humming and pleased smile around his spent prick. He blamed his lack of awareness on circumstance, the effort to focus on sensation, the effort not to think of all the reasons he had to not be here, splayed out and face down. When the unnerving yet satisfying kisses moved to his buttocks and the caressing hands left tingling thighs behind to slide up, he should have known what the fiend was about to do.

"What . . . don't . . . no!"

Scrambling forward onto his elbows, pushing against his knees, it didn't do much good when those big hands pulled back on his hips, thumbs still turned inward and pulling his cheeks apart despite his struggles. The bastard was laughing, little bursts of breath against the damp skin that had just been subjected to a tongue . . . a tongue!

"Calm down, pet."

Calm down? He tried to twist, wide eyes finding the wicked grin, the sinfully wet lips. He couldn't break free without actually trying to harm his master, kicking or, god, throwing himself backward. Would that finally embarrass the perverted prince, having his nose broken by Toshiro's tailbone? The panicking part of him nearly joined the madman's laughter.

"Don't do that!"

"Giving me orders now?"

The hint of steel was obvious after the teasing softness, and a cold warning flashed in the back of his mind, making him stop wriggling. That's right, he was a slave. He couldn't deny anything his owner wanted; or he could and he had some idea how that would go.

The flash of hardness in dark eyes eased almost immediately, lashes dropping as lips dropped to lay another kiss in the crevice of his ass as he let out a choked sound of outrage.

"Why, pet?"

Why what?

"It's not . . . you can't . . ."

He had no words to finish each aborted demand. What could he say? He found it debasing? That hardly mattered, he was a bed slave. He wasn't clean? The man had to realize that already, and it hadn't stopped that tongue.

"Why not?" Whispered breath against clenched muscle, he could feel the iron grip spreading him wider.

He had no answer, shaking arms folding down again as he was pushed forward. Once more, he was closing his eyes, this time in an effort to fight back humiliation and anger. But why? He'd had this man's teeth under his skin, had this man's cum dripping out of him. This wasn't worse, just . . . shockingly filthy.

"Shhh," he shivered. "Count to thirty, little dragon. Then tell me no and I will obey."

"What?"

The nip at the soft skin of his right buttock made him jolt, feeling the bruising grip on his hips tighten and then relax just enough for the bones to throb. There would be new bruises, probably already were.

"Count. One."

It wasn't as if he had any choice in the matter. At least this gave him some semblance of control, an excuse for his pride, another manipulation by his captor.

"One."

Before the count of three, his weight had been shifted forward, knees pushed back out, even more vulnerable than before. Four came out as a gasp, the hard tip of a tongue flicking against the back of his testicles and pushing into the soft skin that he'd only recently discovered was delightfully sensitive to touch. It didn't occur to him until ten that his lover was crouched down behind him, bending quite low, ass in the air just like his. He had only two seconds to be tempted to open his eyes and crane his head to see the mirror, and briefly understood the appeal.

The urge to flee returned when he said twelve, just as wet warmth was dragged up the crease between massaging thumbs. That wasn't the worst of it; by fifteen it had slipped back down and circled, by seventeen there was a pressure he understood quite well, even if he didn't quite believe it and yelped nineteen as he felt the wriggling intrusion.

He forgot to say twenty-three, too busy trying not to swallow his own tongue as the hold on his hips tightened again, keeping him from trying to squirm away? Squirm closer? He should have known. Everything that had been done to him, mostly without his consent, many things he would not have agreed to had he been free and clear-minded, they all ended with him a writhing mess of confused bliss. This was no different.

"Twen . . . six . . . oh, _fuck!_ "

Thirty was never spoken, never acknowledged by either of them. Forty, fifty, time was no longer important. He'd stopped moving, head tucked down between his arms with forehead pressed hard against the mattress, pulling in the damp, heated air in deep gulps while falling back into the strange trance of nothing but sensation. It was similar to before, when he'd been teased and worked open by fingers that made his skin and muscles react in ways he'd never predicted. And it was different, not already lost in a firestorm of lust, being brought back from fear and shame through actions he would never have imagined. Toshiro had no defense against it once his lover had earned yet another surrender, though he barely noticed how his failed erection returned, wet heat against his stomach drowned out by wetter, hotter, bolder.

Just as he helplessly started to push his hips back, the massaging lips and active tongue pulled away with a sloppy kiss. His whine cut short with another caress of perineum, back dipping down to better expose every part of him he had tried to hide. The hands left his hips, one stretching, petting up his side and then down his back with a light scratching that had him flexing his spine into the contact like a cat.

"Beautiful, Shiro-baby."

The words were so breathless, voice strained and slow, he couldn't even work up any disgust for the horrid nickname. When the hand sliding down his back continued, dipping two fingertips inside him with barely any resistance, he heard himself make the most shameless wail, twisting his head to bury the sound in soft fabric.

"By all the gods, you're the most perfect thing . . . my lovely, clever pet."

Ah, yes. _Pet._ Toshiro bit down another cry, the gliding fingers crooked and pushing already into that treacherous place inside, more friction than before, saliva instead of oil, he reasoned with the sliver of his mind that wasn't totally drowning in building ecstasy. Such sweet words, such sweet tingling and tightening, being praised and petted. _Pet._ No truth or trust, or no more than one would extend to a favorite hound. He pushed back, indulging in his reward for being a good pet.

"Do you like this, Toshiro?"

No reason not to take what he could, especially now. No single reason not to let himself moan and let his entire body rock slow and steady, back toward the stretching fingers, forward to rub his cock on his own skin. It almost was enough, at least in a moment of blind desire, almost enough to stay and live in this bed of luxury, forget the pain and the danger. He could let old pride go, take new pride in things he never thought he'd feel, like the guttural moan his actions tore from the man surrounding him. Take pride in saying things that had burned his tongue only days ago.

"Yes!" Prying his face out of the blankets to provide enthusiastic confirmation was a good move, the lift onto his elbows providing more leverage to thrust himself back, the sudden change shoving those three, and when did that happen, fingers deeper. "Oh, ohhhh gods, yes!"

Expecting a reward, an escalation, he yelped at the sudden withdrawal of long fingers and the harsh push of a broad palm that sent him collapsing back down on folded arms. Eyes still clenched shut, legs shaking, he would have fallen entirely if his knees could have slipped back, prevented by the solid body pressing closer, the arm snaking around his waist.

"Shhh," shushed again, and the heavy body moved to blanket him in sweat and confusion and clove.

A deep breath drawn, nose pressed to the nape of his neck. Skin slippery on skin, the arm around him holding firm, not letting him fall. Surrounded, nothing else in the world but them. It was starting all over again, with firm kisses to his neck and shoulders between words. Only, he didn't think he'd last another round, nails digging into his palms in a feeble effort to hold back.

"There's nothing I could gain," he couldn't help the short gasp welcoming the nip and sucking pressure at the crook of his neck, "that would be worth losing you."

'Master, you . . ." _didn't lose me_ , he intended to say, words and breath stolen by the quick movement, the pattern of easy, intense kisses shattered. The arm around his ribs pulled away, a hand on his back, bracing more than pushing, the heat of him gone again, shifting weight, and the blunt pressure, wet and slippery and already causing a bruising stretch just there, between ready skin, against his twitching muscles.

"Do you want it, pet?"

Another flash of shame, quickly burning out in the flame of need. Taken like a dog, face down, and eager for it, impossibly aroused by complete vulnerability. Had he the nerve to say no just to see what his owner would do? No, too likely he would be obeyed and miss out on this entirely, and he couldn't speak anyway, no matter how amusing the thought was. All he could do was answer with his body, relaxing under the heavy hand, rolling his hips to push closer with a drawn-out moan.

He knew better what to expect this time, knew enough to keep his already lax body pliant. Or maybe it was only that he knew now the immense pleasure that would come, and so the pain did not seem as great a price to pay. But it was there. It still hurt and it took effort to breathe through the invasion, helped by the gentle stroking of his back and the deep groans falling down on him in time with the slow push, pull, push, little by little. This time, he did nothing to speed it up, grasping at handfuls of fabric and panting steadily.

When it seemed too much, the pain less sharp but so much more pervasive, a throbbing ache in time with his measured breaths, just when it seemed he would have no choice but to cry out for mercy, everything paused. Heavy warmth draped over him again, the shift within making him groan and want to sink down to the bed, but he stayed right where he was for countless seconds of stillness, covered and impaled and awash in the delicious tranquility of having nothing and needing nothing apart from this.

"Open your eyes, baby. Look at me."

Turning to lay his cheek against his arm, he opened his eyes as commanded, vaguely surprised that the world was still there, the searing brightness of the desert morning muted through the dark blue gauze. He could feel every pulse of his lover's heart through his skin, feel every expansion of powerful lungs, and the tantalizing shift deep with his own body when the man moved and flexed to stretch down. Lips on his cheek, on the corner of his mouth, and he strained to twist his head enough to offer his lips. Finally, he could see the features that he had always thought handsome, now with the backdrop of clear light made radiant, eyes darkened with desire and skin shining with sweat.

"Beautiful."

It was the second time he had said it, and he meant the word whispered onto smiling lips wholly. Brown eyes lit with playfulness, then his own eyes closed again, overwhelmed by the feeling of being completely and totally consumed. All he could do was weakly return the kiss, gentle and slow strokes, easy and sweet until the tension left him, body yielding once more, cock twitching back to life as the ache changed in nature, pain only a slight accent to the shivering fire down his spine matching the wonderful relief of withdrawal.

Expect the unexpected, it should be the theme of his new life, unable to predict anything ever since a casual walk home went horribly wrong. There was nothing wrong with this, just unexpected, the unhurried return of too-full pressure, deliberately slow, stopping again fully joined to run a hand up to his waist, calluses scratching under the firm petting. And it continued like that, carefully steady, almost sedating were it not for the sparks tingling with each movement, not just at that terrifying place within, but everywhere, all at once. Every exhale was a soft moan, every muscle trembling even as his mind seemed to simply drift on the waves of leisurely-building bliss.

A rumbling growl and a clutching hand called his attention back, made him aware how difficult this must be for his lover, and he wondered why, then, was there such delay. Not that it wasn't deliriously good, but the previous time had been the exact opposite of this, all fierceness and mutual force, and he had, he thought, made it clear that he thoroughly enjoyed it.

Tentatively, and with every intention of backing off and simply sinking into pleasure again however it was delivered, he managed to gather enough strength in nearly numb legs to lift and push back. The response was instant, the hand at his waist moving to lay flat, covering most of his narrow back with enough pressure to make the message clear – stay still, stay down, and he gratefully stopped trying to do anything at all, letting his mind go numb as the rest of him gradually wound tighter and tighter.

He was the one, after all, after countless minutes of the tender rocking rhythm, that caused the escalation. He didn't even hear it when the deep breath, low moan, deep breath pattern changed to staccato inhales broken by high keening whines. He never felt his body curving to push upward, on his elbows with his head hanging, letting those sounds out into the unbearably hot air. It was a command, as his owner had told him, every honest, uncalculated gasp and cry a command, and he was obeyed.

"AHH! God, that . . . I can't . . .."

With a thump, a hand landed right by his head, weight coming down again, and he pressed up further, trying like mad to merge into the solid line of working muscle and damp skin above. He could feel his climax, teased at for so long and now rushing toward him with the distinct feeling of falling happily to his own destruction. Such contrast in the harsh, fast thrusts, slamming into that place that turned his words into short screams, the inescapable cage of flesh around and in him, and fuck, the knowledge of what that heavy, stinging slap against his thighs was . . .

"Not yet, baby," growled against his shoulder, and he bucked his hips up again, allowed now, encouraging just that little extra speed that he knew would be the final push. A gorgeous, perfect, firm thrust right nearly ended it, and then there was a hand wrapping around his painfully ready erection.

"Yes! Fuck!" Only, he didn't . . . another collision of their bodies and everything clenched, such a sensual groan next to his ear, only . . . that hand was staying still, and squeezing, and he didn't cum even though every part of his body screamed that he should.

"What . . ."

"I said," a dark, breathless chuckle and he truly wanted nothing more than to bite the throat making such a noise while torturing him with the speed and power that he'd been begging for, "not yet."

Holding him close, skin sliding across his back, his lover changed again. Fast and sharp, but with a pause and a push to end each stroke, deep and intense and almost unbearable. He shouts were shoved out of him, sounding increasingly desperate, while he tried to endure. It as too much, too indescribably euphoric, the pleasure crossing back into a sensation too like pain and yet the piercing need was even better than anything he'd yet experienced.

"Please!" His lover sounded almost as desperate with an answering moan. "Ichigo . . . please!"

Dull press followed by sharp sting, teeth embedding in his shoulder, and he heard his own words. He had never said that name, was certain he was not allowed to call his owner and master by name, but he couldn't bring himself to hate the consequence, convulsing under the grip of the bite and the force that nearly knocked him forward off his knees. He didn't feel the hand release him, only the dizzying rush of an orgasm that combined agony with ecstasy.

All control of his body was lost, held only by the return of the arm across his ribs as he shook in tandem with his lover, every final thrust like a new and more complete release. Sinking down on shaking arms, he took the larger body with him, over him, ragged panting on his skin between the carefully clenched teeth, and the scorching cocoon was perfect, letting him gasp and forget reality in favor of merged bodies, thunderous heartbeats, dark and endless rapture.

"Toshiro."

His broken skin had been released and licked while he drifted, panicked lungs beginning to regain a steady rhythm. A glimmer of thought returned, buzzing and dense, the words in his ear so far away.

"Okay, baby?"

Less like kisses, the drag of open lips and teeth back and forth across his neck, and before he knew it, his arm had reached up and behind, found soft hair and sweat-damp skin. With a contented sigh, his lover pushed against his hand, turning and kissing the palm before nipping at his fingers. It was as if he had been caught by some wild animal, this killer in silks that bit and purred and held him down to lick and taste, and the image of it, like some tawny desert cat lying over the top of him, was so ridiculous that he found himself laughing, out-of-breath huffs, every jolt of his abdomen its own reward with the pleasure and the softening fullness still very much a part of him.

Feeling the grin against his palm, eyes closed and relaxing again into the feeling of hot and full and connected, Toshiro realized that he loved this, not just the unsought intimacy that he now craved, but everything about it, even the times he was caught in fear and anger because the moments he overcame such emotions were twice as arousing. This, he scratched lightly at the smooth-shaven cheek before two of his fingers were caught and held firm, then sucked deliciously, this was something he'd never find again. He could search the world, fall in love, fall in lust, but he would never have this again.

oooooooOOOOOooooooo

* * *

 **A/N** \- Sorry I was gone forever. Hope the extra long extra smut helped make up for it a little.


	33. Priorities

.

 **Chapter 33**

 **Priorities**

 _Sometimes when you're overwhelmed by a situation - when you're in the darkest of darkness -  
that's when your priorities are reordered.  
_ _~Phoebe Snow_

* * *

He really didn't have time for this. And yet, he really did not want to leave. What was the point of being the most powerful man in Hueco Mundo if he couldn't do whatever the hell he wanted for another hour? _Second most powerful, which means no power at all_ , he reminded himself, and that was the point. That was why he had no time today, no time ever to just shut the world out.

Panting subsided, heart no longer trying to burst from his chest, he eyed the clear mirror above. Sprawled on his back, he'd kept one hand draped casually on the rounded white ass, his little pet collapsed into the mess of soiled sheets and still breathing heavily. Interestingly, charmingly, Toshiro had reached out before going completely still, head turned away from him but one arm stretched to lay a pale hand in lovely contrast against his chest. He wondered if the young man felt the same need to maintain contact, even just a little, after that intense round of sex.

Enough. He had less than eight hours until he had to be at the head of a column of raiders heading out into the sands. Less than six hours, then, and he must be overseeing final preparations, even with his hand-picked generals in charge. The desert would freeze over before he rode out with a company he had not personally inspected.

The interrogation of Hanataro, Unohana, and probably everyone in the infirmary – could that wait? On the one hand, the information was fresh now. After he'd been gone for days, witnesses, conspirators, and innocent bystanders might vanish, or have time to rehearse their versions of reality. On the other hand, fear would build the longer he let the chief suspects stew. The healer may only have valuable secrets, not deadly intentions. Surely she could have killed him a hundred times over the years, given what he suspected of her true skills. And the apprentice, well, that kid would crack instantly whether now or in days.

He couldn't put off the several clandestine meetings he had lined up to deal with Shutara. There was always the chance the bitch would find a way around the wrath that was surely going to come down on her when the king learned of her son, the king's own bastard, poisoning a member of his household. Shutara had lost her mind if she thought that the prince's new mistress was beneath Aizen's notice. An emerald was an emerald, and Toshiro was family.

Still, he wouldn't underestimate her. His own contingency plans for destroying House Senjumaru were in place, and the houses now in his corner – Abarai, Ishida, Kuchiki, Madarame and several more – were already braced or waiting for his final orders.

Then there was his wife. Somehow, he'd managed to neglect Orihime already. The wedding night and morning after had been acceptable, true, but a few hours of exhausted sleep last night, and hardly three words exchanged outside of the bed since. It wasn't as if he'd expected to have a lot of time to get to know her, but then, he'd fully anticipated wanting to escape the marriage bed after a couple of days, certain she'd be a terror like the first queen or a vapid fool like the second. Not his fault she'd turned out to be tolerable, and possibly quite a bit more than that.

A faint groan and the movement of damp skin under his palm shook him out of deep thoughts, and he watched avidly the mirror image of the lithe body slowly stretching and twisting, obviously just surfacing from the depths of bliss. There was such sensuality in the play of muscles as they bunched and relaxed, yet the movements were alluringly innocent, despite the slick thighs, the bruises peppering back, buttock, shoulder. Each limb and joint was flexed with a sigh or groan, and he knew Toshiro was slowly, thoroughly cataloging his own body's reaction to ecstasy. No effort to seduce, no playing coquette, just a sated body reveling in pleasure with no thought given to witnesses or appearances.

Giving himself a stern talking to for the ridiculous warmth spreading in his chest as he watched his hand slide down and up the curving spine that pushed into the slow caress, he recalled all that he did not know about this stranger snaking an arm across his chest. He turned his head, meeting the languidly blinking eyes catching the desert light and glowing, unable to stop a smile answering the upward curve of lips that were so frequently set in a stern scowl.

Perhaps that was why he was so eager to drag his heels, first not making time to seek out Gin for the real story behind his precious gift, then letting Rangiku off easy after she'd been meeting his pet, now convincing himself that delaying interrogation was acceptable. If his little dragon was dangerous, a spy, a traitor, he didn't want to know it. He wanted to live on in the lie that was growing sweeter by the day. He didn't want to learn the truth.

His heart hardened, as it should, and the smile faded from his face. Running from the truth, a coward's choice.

Completely unacceptable.

The lovely face flushed with sated passion and sunlight stilled, the easy smile locking into something fake and cautious. Ichigo realized what he must look like, glaring at his little lover with dark intentions behind his eyes. He remembered leaving the young man within minutes of deflowering, a much rougher experience than planned involving chains and blood and bruising. And he had just left. As if the boy was a whore, not a virgin lover that had given himself despite fear and pain.

Sneering at the unwelcome return of guilty thoughts, he pushed all of it aside. Toshiro was safe. He had pressing business to attend to ensure he had the power to keep them all safe. That was far more important than these impulses to wrap himself around the little dragon and cherish.

Quickly rolling aside, he left the bed and his bedmate behind. He did not have to look to imagine the expression of hurt where so recently there had been peace and happiness. He expected a plea for attention, an accusation of abandonment, at the very least a 'where are you going' with a not-quite-hidden note of calculated sorrow. And his young lover said not one word.

oooooooOOOOOooooooo

Rumors had their own life at the palace, flitting about with speed and a degree of accuracy that seemed impossible. Kiyone didn't truly believe what she heard, though her mind raced as she tried not to react, to continue haughtily ordering about the kitchen slaves as they put together a tray for her lord. The voices continued, either not knowing her very recent and certainly not cordial relationship with the healer's apprentice, or simply not caring.

She started to believe the stories when she remembered the morning. She'd been angry, stopping by her lord's chamber only to check in since Hanataro was supposed to handle morning duties according to their brand new agreement she had made and dictated. The bed had been clean and made, but there was a mess everywhere else.

Kiyone was an honest person, for the most part. Even she was a little tempted as she tidied the table covered with coins and jewels and statuettes and all manner of things that glittered, gifts for the new royal mistress. The maids she had called in handled the rest under her watchful eye, wary of greedy fingers. She didn't want to know how the heavy chair had been knocked over and broken, or why there were once again medical supplies strewn all over the place.

It would fit the rumors. Lord Toshiro badly hurt, poisoned. But then, he had looked fine when the prince had stormed in with the small man tucked to his chest. She hadn't wanted to get a good look, but they'd both seemed rather, um . . . energetic, certainly not on death's doorstep. And what could they mean about Hanataro being in the dungeon? What could that uppity little fool ever have done to make anyone look twice at him, let alone throw him in prison?

She did believe the stories when she went to deliver the lunch. Hanataro was nowhere to be found. The bed was . . . well . . . not clean again, though at least the chains remained coiled neatly on the floor. Strange aqua eyes had looked up, lit with welcome, and then winced and looked away when he did not see the one he hoped had walked through the door – Hanataro? Surely the man was not eager to see the prince who had left him so battered he'd struggled to walk. The young lord's gaze went back to the book open on the small desk she'd seen him and the healer share meals at, like they were friends.

"My lord," no reaction other than a wave of one delicate hand, instruction enough to place the tray on the desk.

A quick glance told her he wasn't reading another musty old history book. This one was recent, and the page he was on included maps of trade routes. It was only when he glanced up at her again that she noticed his neck and let out a little gasp before she could stop herself. His eyes narrowed, then he sighed and looked back at the book.

"Yes, I am quite aware. No, I have no remotely plausible explanation to offer you. You may go about your business."

Well, the nerve! Flustered, she flounced over to the door and pulled the chord to summon maids yet again to change yet more soiled bedding. No way she was handling it. She'd clean up after his lordships hourly bath, instead, the little snot.

The work helped calm her down, and her thoughts turned back to the strange miracle. Oh, the mistress was bruised and marked, even a decent bite showing thanks to the wide collar of the green silk jacket. But the horrid, deep bruising all over his throat was gone. The rings of purple around his wrists, too. And this after rumors of the mistress' imminent death.

Which brought her path of thought back to the healer's boy, and she wondered if harmless-looking Hanataro who had snapped at her when she suggested helping the injured slave had been the one to heal, or the one who had tried to kill. Some of the rumors said that Hanataro had poisoned Toshiro, and that's why the boy was in the dungeon or dead, killed by Toshiro or the prince or one of the black-clad assassins depending on which version you bought.

That couldn't be right. No one could have seen what Toshiro had been through and felt anything but pity. Hanataro wouldn't have tried to hurt him. And the healer's boy had been trying to help; she had seen the hand-drawn maps quickly folded up when she walked by, and had held back the scathing commentary she wanted to deliver. Those maps would have led Toshiro into the desert and straight to dried wells and guarded oases.

"My lord, that map is quite incorrect."

"What?"

Now he was looking at her, not through her, cautiously blank-faced. Kiyone was a lot smarter than people gave her credit for, and she barely held back a grin. Even if she found him rather abrasive and full of himself, no one deserved his life, and she had made herself a promise to help if she could.

"You can't trust books when it comes to the desert. It changes too quickly. The major trade routes are still open, since they're routed by the most reliable wells and oases. But the others, the ones less traveled, shift like the dunes. The only way to be sure where to find shelter and water is a trader's map, the kind that are constantly updated and passed around the caravans. I should know, my family's been in long-distance trade for generations."

The careful mask didn't shift, but one white eyebrow slowly rose as she spoke, and she took that as a good sign, stepping close and trailing her finger down one of the lines on the map.

"This one, for example, is still the same for about 50 miles. This oasis went dry last summer, worst drought in decades. Now you have to swing straight north and make good time to get to the tribal well and you'll connect to the Red Butte Road here. You know, I could get you some current trade maps, at least the ones heading north and east. Wrong time of year for southern trade, and west is Kenpachi's tribe, whole different set of rules that way."

Which didn't really matter. He'd head east; straight east was the best way through the open plains of Wandenreich to Rukongai, and somewhere beyond that was Seireitei, a land too far to be on trader's maps.

"I would really find that interesting." Then, she couldn't help the satisfied smirk as he slowly blinked at the page. Like she didn't know why he would find that interesting. "Thank you, Kiyone."

"Of course, my lord."

She left him, and went to seek out her sister. For once, she may have more accurate information than Isane about what was going on in the palace, and she couldn't wait to run it in.

oooooooOOOOOooooooo

"This is what we assassins like to call 'overkill.'"

She snorted, agreeing but not joining in what could be called criticism. Kisuke had a way of disarming people, between his comical appearance and humor. Not that it applied itself in this situation. She highly doubted the gibbering mess chained to the wall could understand sarcasm at the moment.

They'd barely hurt him, just enough to get through that initial 'I don't know anything, I swear' that she'd heard a hundred times. Then the sobbing, shaking, begging . . . this one just broke into a million pieces, telling them more than they wanted to know before they asked. That was good. Once you get really rough, you're just as likely to get fanciful lies as truth, anything to stop the pain. Unless it was a real soldier, one you had to dig deep into to get them to talk. Either way, interrogation was tedious, a job she would leave to Kisuke or one of her underlings.

"Well, my dear, do you think we can get anything else out of him? Maybe with this?"

Her husband sounded almost hopeful as he raised a very simple device with very sharp bits just to make the boy start crying again. Ironic. It was Kisuke who was bored to tears, the promise of the bloodthirsty capital had faded into disappointing intrigue and plots with only a few clumsy assassins and a kidnapping as entertainment. Too bad the prince didn't want to take Kisuke on the raid. Her man needed a fight. She doubted he'd get one facing healers, injured people, and those weird religious nutters who thought they could pray people better.

"You can try if you want, love. But I think the kid is being honest."

A sniffle and a look of hope from ridiculously big puppy eyes. Good torturer, bad torturer, how dull. She played the merciful one, giving the kid, who was actually nineteen but sure as hell didn't look it, a drink of water before shoving the gag back in while he tried to beg her not to. They hadn't cut him badly enough to worry about him bleeding too much, or infection . . . probably. Anyway, someone would remember he was down here, or they wouldn't and the boy would die of thirst way before a fever killed him.

"Still not sure if he's off his head, though, kidnapped foreign lords being rescued in daring treks across the desert by tiny wives. Hey kid, if we find out your cracked, I promise I'll get the prince to let you out. Not right torturing simpletons."

"Let's go find this girl, my dear tiny wife." He'd pay for that, later, until he was screaming for mercy. "Momo was it? Maybe she'll be more entertaining."

She was not more entertaining. In fact, she wasn't the least bit entertaining, because they opened the heavy door to find two of the king's guards heading right for them. Yoruichi ran through the few options in an instant. They were too close, no chance to slip back into the cell and kill the prisoner. Besides, she wasn't sure the prince would approve, being a bit of a soft heart when it came to the weak ones. Too late to grab the boy and run. Too risky to kill the guards when there were more just a few feet down the hall.

A quick hand signal and her husband relaxed and stepped all the way out of the doorway. He'd been braced to fight, flee, kill, bless the man for his quick thinking and quicker reflexes. Despite her suspicion that Ichigo may not always work hand in glove with the king, to say the least, their employer had made it quite clear that the king's authority was not to be challenged in any way, in word or deed. So she greeted the guards with a casual smile.

"Hello, boys," she purred with a toss of her long hair, for their benefit and to rile up Kisuke a bit. He was always more fun in bed when there he felt he needed to prove his right to be there. "Don't worry, we just roughed him up a little; the prisoner is still alive. Or are you here to fix that?"

"Not really any of your business, is it, assassin."

Okay, so the older gent was impervious to her charms, though he did give Kisuke a pointed once-over and hesitated at her husband's sly grin. Didn't matter, anyway, nor did it matter that the younger one was drooling a little. Her reputation preceded her among the soldiery, she'd made sure of it. And this one was quite susceptible. She sidled closer as the older one stepped into the cell.

"Ah, you going to steal all the fun? I kinda liked this one, so small and breakable. I thought he'd make a good pet." Her fingers danced across the convulsively swallowing throat of the young guard, his eyes darting from her lips to her breasts to the man who did not look like a deadly killer standing back and watching with mild amusement. "Only, I've got this new collar I'm just dying to try. It tightens, you see," she pinched the guard's throat firmly, "when you tug on it. They say if you run out of air just before you cum . . . well, if you kill this one, where will I ever find another young, sweet, obedient little playmate?"

"We're not killing him." He didn't even stutter, though he did start to sweat a little when she leaned against him, looking up through her lashes. Maybe she was losing her touch. "Just taking him to the healer. King's orders."

To the healer. The one they'd been instructed not to lay a finger on unless it was absolutely necessary. That was certainly not what she'd expected. Ichigo would be livid. The prince wouldn't show a single sign of displeasure, she knew. The boy had been playing Aizen's games since he could walk.

Pushing past the young guard, she didn't bother to stop his hand that reached for her, and she didn't glance back at the sudden choking noise and loud thud, the kind of sound a convulsing body might make falling to the floor, followed by the clopping of wood sandals on stone. She could also hear the rattling of chains being removed and the alarmed protests from the healer's boy; of course, the guard didn't bother telling the kid where they were taking him. And she didn't have to backtrack to the infirmary to learn that her own lackeys had been dismissed from their posts guarding the infirmary. One of her lieutenants was already waiting for them at the top of the stairs to tell them the king had thanked them, told them to be on their way, and made it clear the infirmary was off limits. So much for interrogating the girl.

"Alright. Which one of us gets to tell the prince?"

Her husband already had a large silver coin poised to flip on top of his thumb.

oooooooOOOOOooooooo

Servants, slaves, the nobles lingering like rats waiting for scraps scattered, even the guards finding ways to make themselves scarce as she stormed through the palace doors. Two of her own house guards trailed her, silent and pale in the wake of her wrath. With great difficulty, Shutara managed to school her expression, ensuring her features were smooth and calm despite the murderous aura which was not, after all, so uncommon around her. She could not chance an unplanned encounter with one of the few people who mattered, not while she was furious enough to make the mistake of letting it show.

More importantly, she was frightened, which made her almost desperate to hurt someone. At times like this, she missed the queens. The first had been formidable, and Shutara had entered the royal family demure and quiet, staying out of the queen's path. Those had been good days, working the secure and overconfident mistresses one against the other, finding the tiny chinks in the queen's armor to slip in slow daggers of betrayal from those she thought she ruled. In the end, it was the king himself who executed the queen and Shutara's top rivals, all without a clue that she was behind every supposed act of treason.

The second queen had been far easier to destroy, more entertaining in its way even if she grew bored of the simpering fool. By then, Shutara already was the queen in all but name, the mistresses who had survived her early machinations either thoroughly under her control or willingly following her, morons.

Her scathing glance swept over the fleeing sheep scurrying for cover as she swept through the king's wing, not letting her mask drop. That kind of fear was repulsive, even as it gave her a little thrill to be seen as a predator in den of murderers. But even a predator can fall. She'd underestimated the orange-haired freak, from the very beginning when she had joined the rest of the court in deep amusement at the king's game. Poor kid, powerless and small, the king's favor settled on him as a blessing of a lamb before it is sent to slaughter.

Only, look at that lamb now. The lamb that had cut the throat of her firstborn, her future. By now, Ginjo would have the crown and a legacy, a score of children, happy to indulge in the finest of everything while she guided his hand and established the Senjumaru dynasty, wiping out every last Aizen bastard. She hadn't taken Ichigo seriously until it was too late. She hadn't been able to ruin the unworthy princeling in the king's eyes, and she couldn't seem to kill him despite years of trying. If her final efforts also failed, her family would make its move, killing the king while the brat was off raiding some worthless little village, securing the city while the little lion was out playing at war. It would be swift, and brutal, a bloodbath to erase the king's strongest supporters and make it clear to the survivors that Senjumaru was not a name to rise against. If the coup failed, then the Senjumaru name would cease to exist at all.

A shame her king would have had to die. Sosuke was her first miscalculation, before the little bastard had come along. The king was ruthless, devious, clever, and beautiful. All those years ago, when her family had raised and coached her to be the one to bring down the greatest man in the land, she had never expected to find him so intriguing, a devil she could almost bring herself to worship. The earliest plans were to win the queen's crown, or win the heir's crown through Sosuke. If only he had fallen in line. A hundred plots she had devised to spare his life, her favorites all ending with him chained and at her mercy for the rest of their lives.

Not that it mattered, anymore. It was all wrecked, ruined, and she knew that she had no choice but to ignore the flight instinct telling her that there was almost no chance of survival unless she ran. There was always a chance if you stayed and fought; running was a death sentence in Las Noches. Yet every time she had come up with a possible solution, that smug little shit of a prince seemed to be there, one step ahead. How many times had she failed to end him? That pathetic Kurosaki runt had everything her son should have had, the crown, the king's ear, the hatefully pretty princess who had dared to taunt her, the seemingly harmless paramour that made even her wary when he dropped the pretense of innocence.

How had that foreign slave survived? The poison was delivered, the damage done, her spies had seen the boy convulsing as he was rushed to the infirmary. And they had seen him carried away in the fucking prince's arms, very much alive. There was no cure once the Great Orb Spider's venom had a chance to enter the bloodstream, only a slight chance of living with catastrophic brain and nerve damage, a fate worse than death. She should be watching the arrogant, pretentious little cunt burn on a funeral pyre by now, dressed in his fancy collar. Yet the white-haired mistress was reportedly unharmed, yet another failure to damage the prince who seemed to have the luck of the Gods.

And now, her enemy had her second son. Not second in number, she had borne four strong sons and two daughters she'd had high hopes for. Shukuro was all that she had left, the only one alive and worth the effort to refine and guide. In some ways, he was even better than Ginjo, certainly more intelligent. He was too much like her, though, and would not be as easy to manipulate once he had power.

Finally, the guards rushed to shove open the heavy doors of the favored mistress' chambers. The second they closed behind her, she let the scream that had been building in her throat escape. Her king was the only one who could hear from here, and her 'tantrums' were nothing new to him. He knew, damn him, he knew everything that happened in Las Noches. He knew her boy had vanished, taken right out of his bed in the Senjumaru compound and vanished, maybe already . . . no, _not dead_. Too valuable to be dead. And that smirking bitch of a prince went about his business without a word, no demands, no acknowledgment she could work with. _And Sosuke knew_.

Something heavy and solid and probably worth a fortune was between her fingers for a mere second, flung across the room to shatter against a wall. The startled yelp brought her attention to the short servant, trembling against the wall with bits of broken crystal dusting her blond hair. Her eyes narrowed to slits, focusing on a target for her rage. Not a very satisfying target, as it turned out.

"What are you doing here?"

The blond girl, Ran'Tao's girl, ducked her head, trying to look even smaller than she was. This one had a bit of spirit, and was smart enough to hide it. Not like her own worthless girl, Loly; she'd broken what little will the girl had after the slut had dared touch her king. Ran'Tao always was too easy on the servants. Shutara had let that slide, given that the woman had never once challenged her, had done as she was told, had kept out of the way. She'd been especially easy to control once Shutara had arranged for the king to see Ran'Tao's sister, leading inevitably to the meeker, younger girl being brought to the palace as a new mistress. Now the younger one was pregnant, repulsive child. Worth it to keep the cleverest of her rivals under her thumb.

"A letter, my lady."

"And why would Ran'Tao's maid be bringing my correspondence?"

A quick flash of green, the girl did have pretty eyes. Perhaps she'd scoop them out, save them like emeralds.

"Loly was hurt, my lady. A fall, I believe."

She sneered. Why the little slut bothered to make up excuses was beyond her. Everyone knew, it wasn't as if Shutara held back when in company, and no one gave a shit about a servant girl who was barely competent and slept around besides.

Quick steps brought her to her prey, sneering at the complete lack of fight, the girl didn't even try to run. Then she noticed the folded parchment held up in front of the girl like a shield, heavy, cream-colored with an emerald-green wax seal. Hope flared painfully as she tore the letter from shaking hands and spun away to open and read what would surely be words of comfort and rescue, her king finally answering her letters pleading to see him, coming as close as she ever had to begging for his help.

 _My dear,_

A knot in her chest eased at the familiar address. All was not lost, he was still willing to listen.

 _I regret that I am unable to spare time to indulge in your company today. The night is spoken for, as well._

She grit her teeth, knowing perfectly well what 'the night is spoken for' meant. She was used to it after all these years, and it was still her bed he came to more often than all the others combined. That was not as important as his refusal to see her, he could rearrange the workings of an entire kingdom to suit his fancy but would not give her a few minutes of his time when she needed him, when she was trying to save their son.

 _Shall we enjoy breakfast together? Your lovely face is such a pleasant way to begin my day._

 _Regarding your son, I advise you not to overreact to a short absence. The man is fifteen, not a boy to be coddled. Like as not, he will return by the time you receive this missive with a tale he will not dare tell his darling mother._

"Your son!" She hissed the words, even in her fury knowing that the king could never hear such sentiments. "Your proper heir! And he's sixteen, and he has a name!"

 _My quarters at dawn. Sleep well._

 _Aizen_

Undoubtedly, he would hear the screech of rage if he was anywhere in the royal wing. The letter shredded to nothing between her nails, and she whirled to find some outlet, some relief for the helpless fear, gleefully surprised to find the blond girl still there, edging toward the door but not turning her back to run. Oh, so this one still had a spine? Good, something to break.

oooooooOOOOOooooooo

She arrived like a whirlwind, the deceptively polite knock on the door giving Toshiro just enough time to tuck away the books he had been studying for hours amid the scattered remains of a lunch he had barely touched. He had lost track of time, though it was too early, surely, to prepare for a party that started at sunset. To be completely honest, he'd let the party slip his mind entirely, rather distracted by yet another near-death experience, yet another disturbingly wonderful sexual experience, yet another cold abandonment. He did not anticipate Rangiku coming to see him at all, let alone with an entourage.

"Toshiro! Oh, honey, I couldn't believe when I heard the news. Just look at you!"

Squirming to free himself from suffocation between barely-covered breasts as he was squeezed tight, he managed to break free and backed quickly away from the door. A long whistle announced another surprise arrival, herding in two young women laden with boxes and bags.

"Very nice. Oh, very nice indeed. Mind you, my room at the Serpent has a much better view. I mean, what's with those windows? But that bed! Oh, the things I could do in a bed like that. And all for tiny little you."

"Yumichka?"

"Don't you give him a hard time, Yumi. Though, he doesn't blush at a word like he used to, so if you want to tease you're going to have to do better. Over there, girls. Just shove the jewels and gold and crystal and stuff out of the way."

"What, like maybe admiring the prince for being prepared? Unless all the royal beds come with mirrors and, good gods, how many hooks do you need on one bed?"

"There you go, that did it! Oh, you're adorable!"

And yes, he was blushing, standing like a very mortified statue with his jaw hanging open. He wasn't at all sure what to look at, Ran who was clasping her hands and bouncing like a little girl looking at a puppy, which in this case was him, or Yumichika, who was examining the chain and ankle cuff at the foot of the bed with far too much appreciation.

He decided to start collecting his dignity from where it was scattered all over the floor by first closing the door. He flinched, catching sight not of the two guards he'd grown somewhat accustomed to, but two motionless figures swathed in black, faces half-hidden by masks. Just like them, the ones who had dragged him here in collar and chains, the ones that had walked him, force-fed him, branded him as property. And they were there, right outside his door. Did the prince know? Had he given himself away somehow and his owner was waiting for him to bolt?

No. He closed the door without feeling his own movements, staring at the thick wood and remembering the anger in the prince's eyes as he flung Hanataro across the room. And in bed, as Toshiro returned a warm, affectionate smile and considered abandoning his plans to escape so he could stay with his captor, only to see something cold and much worse than anger steal over the handsome face. Gods, how it had hurt, leaving him frozen in shock and misery as he watched the man walk away as if he was less than nothing.

No. These were the bitch's men outside his door. This was this the prince's answer for his moment of honesty when he had requested vengeance. What had he been thinking? Well, he hadn't been thinking, he'd been _feeling_ , letting passion mislead him like a siren leading sailors to their doom. Promises and hands that made him feel cherished, convincing himself that any of it was real would get him killed.

"Toshiro? Helloooo? Don't even think of running, I'm a lot faster than I look."

He turned away from staring at the door. Getting angry didn't help. It was already a hopeless situation, a desperate choice that would likely end in his destruction. Every time he began to think that this life wasn't as terrible as it seemed, that he could even be happy here, he was reminded by a jeweled collar, a metal cuff, a hateful glance from the man who owned him. He drew a deep breath, making sure his face was calm, eyes guarded.

"Pardon? You were saying something?"

Her steel-blue eyes were a little too searching, so he casually walked toward the desk. Nowhere else was free with Ran watching him from near the door, Yumichika equally intent on him over by the wardrobe, and the two curious servant girls standing between the table and the bed.

"I was saying," good, she wasn't going to make an issue out of it in front of an audience, "sit down so Yumi can get to work."

"What?" He stopped, startled. "Work on what?"

"On you," the handsome young man stepped close, and he was too surprised to flinch when his chin was grabbed, face tilted up and studied. "It's a good base to work with, but I want every single eye on you tonight."

"What are you talking . . ."

"Honestly!" Ran threw hands up in dramatic exasperation and rattled off words in an annoyed tone. "Did that price of yours knock you too hard against the headboard? It's a costume party. Yumi designed your outfit, you know, the one I brought yesterday, he's going to make you look stunning so everyone can see how amazing he is and then they'll be lining up when he opens his new shop. Think of it as your gift to him, and just do as your told. Should be good at that by now!"

"How dare you!"

"How dare I? We're doing you a favor, you little brat."

Yumichika's hand fell to his shoulder with a firm squeeze as he made a sharp _tsk_ ing sound and waved a hand at Ran.

"Knock it off, Ran. Distracting him is one thing, no need to get him all riled up."

His anger shifted back to confusion, a little anyway, but he still glared at her, stung by the implications of her insults.

"My lord, if you don't mind, I'd like to tend to your costume for the evening. It would be my greatest honor."

He scoffed at that, the flattery a little too far in the other direction. But when the man pulled the chair out into the center of the room and gestured with calm expectation, he found himself moving to comply. One last, bitter look at Ran that she returned with surprising coldness, and he found himself surrounded by hands, a woman brushing his hair, another rubbing something cool and sticky onto his face, and Yumichika's hands pulling at various bits of him, examining his outstretched arm, holding and bending his leg at awkward angles, yanking off his slipper and practically sniffing his foot.

"If we time this right, we can be parading through the courtyard in all our glory before the troops set off. Not that you need the prince wrapped any tighter around your fingers," was there a note of bitterness in Ran's voice? "Still, nice for a man to have one last, long look at his lover before heading off to war."

Her oddly critical eyes weren't on him anymore, turning to the man who had gone briefly still at her words. Yumichika gave a tight smile, taking the box Toshiro had quite forgotten from one of the girls and lifting out a lot of white and silver fabric. He tried to look back at Ran, who had moved over to his wardrobe to paw through his clothing, but his head was yanked back into place and he heard the distinct hiss and snip.

"What . . . are you cutting my hair? And what war?"

Rangiku came back into view at that, his jewelry case in her hands and a rather smug expression on her face.

"Your lover-boy didn't even tell you? That's unfortunate. Oh, honey, you really should start getting an information network going if you hope to survive here. That pretty face hasn't stopped anyone from trying to kill you yet."

Again, his mouth opened to demand an explanation for her attitude, and again Yumichika rushed in to distract him.

"Just a raid, my adorable young lord, a few days to ride out and kill some foreigners who built a village too close to the border, take some slaves, and then your prince will be back in that magnificent bed. Not much chance he'll get hurt against a bunch of farmers. And yes, of course we have to do something about that unruly mop! Does he like it long? Most of them do, gives them something to hold on to. Girls, leave some length, especially on top, I think. Trim out underneath and maybe we can get it to lay a bit flatter."

What little fight he had in him left, shocked into silence by the brutality outlined so casually. _His prince_ was a barbarian, a killer, a tyrant, a slaver. He knew this all along, and kept managing to let his revulsion be soothed by appreciation of a keen mind, his own body's lust, the clove-scented warmth. He sat and just let them steadily take him apart while his mind focused on other things, like if he could chance trusting the maps he'd studied or if he must wait for Kiyone to bring him current ones, how he could get food and basic supplies to take with him. Mostly, his thoughts skittered around the unanswerable question of whether a few days without his master's presence would provide an opportunity for escape.

oooooooOOOOOooooooo

It hadn't taken the palace servants long at all to figure out a few things about their new princess. It had taken even less time for them to fall into their traditional routine, gathering little bits of gossip every time they visited the prince's wing, and leaving little deposits of gossip behind like little worker bees toting pollen flower to flower. Isane collected diligently, and rewarded cautiously for now, little favors and kind words promising greater bounty in the future. It was familiar work, and she had a marked advantage having been the former queen's lady. Her old contacts came to her, new contacts flocking in, untrustworthy this early in the game but easy enough to verify one against the other.

There was always lemonade in the sitting room, for example, freshened frequently so that the clear glass pitcher was always shining with ice and sweat, and the bath had quickly become well-stocked with sweet scents. Little jars of interesting spices and pastes were scattered around the table, Isane cringing a little when the princess ate a handful of pomegranate pips with a spoonful of garlic sauce or dipped an orange slice in harissa. If it had been a few months rather than a handful of hours since the wedding, Isane would have assumed the girl was pregnant.

"He . . . he doesn't seem . . . unhappy."

Years of practice kept her face still as she laughed inside. A slave, a foreigner, short, delicate, such a creature could be shunned and unwanted if not for his beauty. Even then, statistics had the boy landing on his back in a whorehouse or chained up for the entertainment of cruel masters. Instead, he was a royal mistress, given more emeralds than a queen. What could that boy possibly have to be unhappy about?

"But then," the princess glanced up from her lily-white hands clasped around a wet glass, "first my guardian hurt him, then last night . . . oh, Isane, he must be so scared."

So young. They always were. She'd been married and given the post of queen's lady half-way through the queen's short reign. The girl had been 15 when married to the king, 18 when court politics had ended her life. This one was only 15, as well, but at least she was showing some signs of strength, not turning a naively blind eye at the household.

Isane had told the princess about the healer's apprentice, Lord Toshiro's servant, being locked in the dungeon. She'd shared the rumors of the infirmary being locked down by the prince's guard, the suspicion that the healer had tried to kill the young mistress, the more outrageous theory that the pretty white-haired boy was planning to run away with the healer's boy. But this was what the tenderhearted Orihime locked onto, the worry that a possible traitor was frightened.

"Yes, I'm sure that's it, highness. Even if the young lord was studying maps, there's no crime in that. Kiyone always had a flair for the dramatic."

Well, at least when the mistress made a run for it and got himself executed, Isane could rest easy knowing she'd warned her own mistress of the potential disruption of the household. Duty done. Still, she regretted it. The young man had been uncommonly brave, and respectful. She recognized intelligence and the rare ability to see through fear and anger to what needed to be done in the boy's actions the night of Kenpachi's attack. He would have been a valuable ally for her lady once she was queen.

"You don't really believe that."

Surprised by the calm conviction in the voice that had been wavering and uncertain like a little girl's just seconds ago, she looked up and was caught by eyes just as startling, perceptive and a bit cold instead of the wide, warm doe-eyes she'd gotten used to.

"Listen carefully, Isane. Tell no one what you've told me, and instruct your sister to keep her silence. I mean this, Isane. If I hear one word about Toshiro from anyone . . ."

Her jaw had dropped at the obvious tone of threat, but she never had chance to respond. She stood hurriedly when the black-masked guard opened the door, letting in the commotion from outside. The guard's eyes swept the room, dismissing Isane as he gave a brief bow. Beyond him, she could see the other guard blocking the entry of whoever was screeching and demanding to see the princess.

"Your Royal Highness, there are two . . ."

He didn't get the chance to complete a sentence, either, sliding out of the way smoothly as green silk and red hair flew to the door.

"Loly! What on earth? Let her through, for gods' sake, help her in! Isane! Run and fetch Unohana, don't tell anyone what you've seen."

"Pardon, highness," the other guard interrupted, an older woman who had simply swept up the white and red bundle and carried it briskly to the couch with the pony-tailed servant following so close she practically carried them both. "No one can leave the infirmary at present, orders of the king. They may allow this one in once they see her injuries."

Oh, they would. Isane knew the girl, of course, a level-headed young woman from a solid working family. Her mistress would never have done such a thing; Ran'Tao could be harsh, but wasn't cruel or violent without reason. Nothing about the bruises and cuts covering the unconscious woman spoke of reason.

"No. No, I can't do this by myself. I'm too tired."

What did that mean? She glanced at the princess, kneeling and already getting blood all over priceless silks as she carefully ran her hands over the limp body. One hand rubbed at forehead, heedless of the red streak of war-paint across her brow as she stood, composed and once again showing that hint of steel.

"Yuna, Hiroto," and when had the princess learned the faceless assassins' names? "You'll carry her to the infirmary. I'll go with you, and they will let us enter. Loly, clean yourself up and go back to your mistress. Now, now. She'll be fine, I promise. You have to be there, you know it. Use my make-up, remember your eye. Come to me late tonight, after she's asleep."

The sobbing servant seemed to pull herself together on such assurances, as if the girl trusted Orihime. She knew Loly. The feisty little brat didn't trust anyone but Menoly, and would bite any hand that reached out to her. Isane looked on, slightly dazed, knowing she'd missed something critical about this innocent desert flower.

"Isane."

"Yes?"

"Go have a chat with your sister. And I'd like to have tea with Ran'Tao in two hours and breakfast with Lord Toshiro at dawn. Understand?"

Isane didn't think she'd bowed so low in her life.

oooooooOOOOOooooooo

* * *

 **A/N** \- Sorry, I have no idea how I'm managing to write at all lately, and before I knew it, I started letting stories go for months without updates. Not gonna bore you with personal details, but BIG THANKS to everyone who left kind words, I needed a little encouragement, okay, a lot of encouragement.  
 _ **DenIchi Hitsugaya**_ \- great to hear from you again! I'm so happy you enjoy this enough to read it once, let alone review it.  
 _ **Beebo85**_ \- Yeah, they'd make a great team as always if they'd just f'in communicate! Sorry for making Hanataro a bit of a coward when he's anything but, it just happened in the story. If I did him justice, he would die before spilling his guts...  
 _ **Rakuen10**_ \- Thanks for the feedback on multiple stories and chapters! I'm sure you already figured out I write looooong stories, but you'll get your answers eventually.


	34. Secrets

.

 **Chapter 34**

 **Secrets**

 _For every secret hangs in greater fear between the speaker's mouth_  
 _and hearer's ear than any peril between cup and lip._  
 _~Pedro Calderón de la Barca_

* * *

There were times, many, many times, Ichigo wished he could punch a wall, throw a glass, scream at the ceiling, anything a normal person would do to vent useless rage. Such displays were not wise, giving away far too much to any observant eye. He had learned to channel the massive irritation of failure into further efforts to succeed, but it didn't stop the impulse to do something violent and pointless, just for a moment.

Fingers gripped the stone hard enough to cause discomfort through the calluses protecting his fingertips from long hours handling weapons, and he let his eyes track a string of horses being led toward the south courtyard. The troops were gathering, a fast, small force of forty. Time was running out. Still, it wasn't much of a crisis, the world was unlikely to end in the three days he'd be gone.

They'd planned five days; a fair pace for the journey, merely a few hours to handle the village and anything else they might find nearby, then a slower return with captives on foot. But he could leave the clean-up to Halibel, she had a steady hand and wouldn't get carried away raiding further south. He would set a blistering pace back to the capital, back to deal with Shutara if she was still alive, back to his lovely wife, back to argue with his father to get access to the foreign girl Unohana was protecting, back to his . . . his what? Exactly what was Toshiro to him, the captivating enigma that was supposed to be an easy distraction from the stress of his days?

"You've done countless interrogations, I'm sure."

"Indeed, highness."

Composed, he turned away from the window to meet the gray eyes. Most would flinch away from him when he was enraged; composed or not, this man's reputation and demeanor both said those sharp eyes could see through a prince's mask. The assassin didn't flinch, didn't move away or avert his gaze. In fact, the lips twitched upward, and the man leaned slightly forward as if drawn to Ichigo specifically because of the danger.

Insane, just as reported.

"And you think he was telling the truth."

"Ah, that's a bit difficult to say. There are so many versions of the truth. I do believe that the prisoner fully believes his words are true. And, it certainly fits the circumstances as I understand them."

A diplomatic answer, telling him nothing he didn't already know. Hanataro might be mad. More likely, the boy was deceived, though he couldn't see any motivation for such a ruse. It wasn't as if anyone stood to gain if Ichigo believed this story, since really, what did it matter if his slave was married or a king or anything else? That life was over. Toshiro wore an emerald collar now, was branded and owned. Nothing changed.

His jaw clenched, thoughts skittering away from dangerous territory, chains and collars and marks of ownership, shattering that lovely diamond in his rage, left with nothing but a remnant of beauty. No. Everything changed.

Ichigo walked back to the center of the room, noting the shadow of a grin, the continued slight lean toward him. If nothing else, the assassin himself as an effective distraction. It was no leap in logic to say the man was powerfully attracted to danger; he was a killer and married to Yoruichi, after all. There was something about him that intrigued Ichigo, something almost feral, unpredictable, Grimmjow but with a sharp edge. It was rather like looking into the eyes of a lion, no human morality to judge or measure. None of Starrk's apathy, none of Grimm's well-hidden honor, just a bundle of instincts with actions held in check only by cleverness.

"They say you are well-traveled. The reason you are less well-known here than your lovely wife is that you have done most of your work outside Hueco Mundo."

The abrupt change in conversation, the personal question, a tactic he had used many times to unsettle an opponent. Not this one, the smile turning a little sly.

"Yes, I have been to Seireitei. That's what you want to ask, isn't it?"

His eyes narrowed, fingers twitching toward sword-hilt with the urge to humble the sneer right out of that knowing tone. The sandy head tilted down an inch. Ichigo wasn't fooled. Urahara was completely confident that he was the deadliest predator in the room, but wise enough or entertained enough to play the game. He wondered briefly just how angry Yoruichi would be with him if he killed her husband, then considered the possibility that he would not be able to kill this man if he tried. It was a surprisingly good feeling, a thrilling feeling to not be sure of his supremacy for once.

"It was oh, around seven years ago, highness, and I never had cause to know the nobility of Seireitei well. Yet I do have a habit of learning the lay of the land, as it were, getting a feel for the politics, the major players in and out of the light. Seireitei is quite stable, an old kingdom content with its ruling class with barely enough drama to provide a few job opportunities. The south is its problem, a lawless land that has a new king or queen every few years, never settling on which borders belong to them and which to Seireitei. One hopeful king thought he might carve out a piece of Seireitei for himself. Not a bad idea.

"I was new to my chosen profession, still working with a team and doing odd jobs as told. Our only purpose was to disrupt the balance of power by removing the lord and general in charge of protecting the southern border of the kingdom. I always did wonder why our client did not also order the elimination of the lord's young son, or his capture for that matter. I can only guess that the lout didn't know his own enemy. The boy was striking, after all, a tiny thing with white hair and fascinating eyes. Had another of the team found the little lordling, they might have done something rather crass. I wasn't paid to do anything to the kid, though, so I left him where his father had told him to hide, all curled up like a kitten in a dark bolt-hole behind a wall, and I went to finish the job.

"Much later, I heard the boy survived and was living with an uncle who, they say, is of the royal blood of Reiokyu. Not sure I believe such nonsense, but stranger things have happened. The boy was raised closer to the capital, much safer territory. Evidently, that didn't spare the kid from danger in the end. Some people just seem to attract those that mean them harm."

He held back a sigh, held back the questions the assassin obviously expected him to ask, held back the desire to collapse into a chair and retreat into his mind to sort through this new information. Such a tangled mess of coincidence and fate, though in the end it didn't have to matter.

"And the fiancée?"

Had his pet lied? More importantly, had he believed a lie from those tender lips?

"I've had no reason to keep up on affairs so far away, highness. Though one might note that Lord Ukitake, the boy's uncle, had well-known ties to the crown-prince of Seireitei. Very close ties, if rumor is to be believed. And that prince has twin daughters. If I remember correctly, they would be quite close in age young Lord Toshiro."

Lord Toshiro. A valid title for a royal mistress. Ichigo didn't think Urahara was referring to that, having saved the title for talk of his pet's position in Seireitei. The man was provoking him and enjoying it. And if that guess was correct, his little dragon had been on the road to becoming king of this rich kingdom by the sea, so very far away.

He didn't have to care about any of this. It didn't have to change anything. Except, perhaps, Ichimaru Gin would need to be made aware that he did not appreciate lies. Had he known . . . he'd suspected from Toshiro's behavior, his mannerisms, his wit. Had he known what his treasure really was, would it have changed anything between them? Would he have done anything differently if he'd known it was a foreign noble captured and enslaved and chained to his bed?

No. It would not have made a difference, not fundamentally. Though, had there not been the secrets and the mystery and the puzzle of the dignified, intelligent, proud slave, had he known what to expect from his gift and why the young man did not react as expected, something would surely be different between them now. Only, he couldn't say what.

"Shall I have my men keep a closer watch on your mistress, my prince?"

His attention snapped back to the gray eyes, even more perceptive than the sharp eyes of his pet. The amused tone annoyed him more than the question itself, though that, too, grated his nerves. He had been quite aware that his perfect pet was holding secrets back from him, and he didn't care for the reminder from this assassin. Just because he trusted Yoruichi to a certain extent didn't mean he trusted her husband; far from it. Urahara was reputedly eccentric, deadly, and absolutely loyal exactly as long as he was paid. Any weakness he showed this man today might be used against him tomorrow.

"Why the sandals?"

Once again, the man didn't even blink at the reversal in topic, grin widening slightly.

"They keep me from getting bored."

Instantly, he knew why. He also knew the assassin was waiting eagerly for him to ask.

"Bored?"

"Well, they slow me down something awful in sand. And they make enough racket to wake the dead on stone. It's difficult to run, difficult to move smoothly, though I confess I've gotten used to them and they aren't as much of a challenge these days. Without them, though, killing people would be far too easy."

After having managed not to tear anything apart while being told Hanataro's testimony, holding back laughter wasn't a challenge at all. Yoruichi sure could pick them, and Ichigo had every intention of testing this braggart's skills himself once everything settled down. If Urahara was anything like his wife, Ichigo was in for a beating that would also teach him more in five minutes than all the instructors at the academy had taught him in years.

"No, don't change the routine. Just keep them both from getting killed. Preferably, let him have one day without a nearly successful assassination attempt if you can manage it."

That erased the grin. The assassin had been contrite when he came to admit another failure, as he should be. Their team's main purpose was to protect Orihime and Toshiro while Ichigo used his new status to start a few personal and political wars. And yet, Toshiro had nearly been killed twice, surviving first through his own bravery, then through Unohana. What Hanataro had to say about the healer . . . and about his wife, who had been called back to help with his injured pet, who had reportedly bullied her way past his father's guards into the infirmary . . ..

If Hanataro was telling the truth about the foreign girl and Toshiro's past, then the young healer was probably telling the truth about Orihime. That had certainly been an unsought gem. How he would use it wasn't quite clear, yet.

oooooooOOOOOooooooo

He felt ridiculous. Not that he was about to complain, even when time dragged on to an hour that felt like four, even when he was dressed and stripped and dressed and spun about, even when his hair was cut and colored and washed and colored again. He wouldn't complain at all because it was the first time in ages that he wasn't thinking of anything more important than the steady flow of gossip, complaints, compliments, and stories that became more risqué with each glass of sweet, cool, boldly-blue liquid that was passed around.

As far as he could tell, Yumichika had tried to dress him up as some kind of butterfly, then said it was too garish and went for something in white that Toshiro thought was quite fetching but the expert eyed him critically and said he looked like a corpse. Since then, his wardrobe had been torn apart, every color of fabric laid against his skin, all while the two women moisturized him and painted him and tried to tear hairs out of his eyebrows which he quickly put a stop to.

The two young women bouncing eagerly to obey every command Yumichika uttered were also prostitutes at The Crowned Serpent, he soon learned. They served dual roles, maids to the 'first-string whores,' Toshiro tried not to cringe at the casual way Yumichika had said that, and taking clients if they happened to catch one's attention. They were both lovely, and Toshiro wondered what it was that separated them from Rangiku, Yumichika, or any of the others who earned their keep strictly in the bedroom. Charisma, he assumed, for he couldn't deny which of these four drew the eye.

". . . so there I am, doing all the work," it was one of the girls talking, the two quickly loosening their tongues after hearing the way Ran and Yumi spoke to the illustrious royal mistress, "well, you have to with him he's like a hundred and three and too fat to find his own pecker," and what was his life that such a thing made him giggle, "and he starts shouting 'Cookie! Give it to me, cookie!' And I'm like whatever, didn't expect him to remember my name anyway so I call him baby and moan a bit and he's shouting 'cookie' and finally getting excited so I think it must be close and then he just shoves me over, and it was a long way down let me tell you and I almost fell off the bed while he's rolling around like a sick horse and I thought 'Shit, Gin's gonna kill me if he dies.' So I'm trying to roll him back from the edge of the bed and his elbow hit me in the face, that's where I got the black eye, and then he knocks over the tray on the nightstand and food goes flying everywhere but he doesn't care, he's stuffing his face with cookies and cakes and groaning like he'd just had the best orgasm of his life."

It really wasn't all that funny, but the four of them were laughing as if it was the most amusing story ever told while Yumichika chuckled but stayed focused on whatever the other laughing girl was doing to Toshiro's toenails. He blamed the alcohol and didn't care in the least.

"Anyway, I was terrified the old man would report me. He didn't even get off, just flopped there and fell asleep covered in sugar and sprinkles. He sent me this the next day," she stuck out her wrist, showing off a gold bangle with bright citrine stones, "told the boss I was the best he'd ever had. And that's the true story of how I got the name Cookie."

"What about you, my lord? I bet the prince calls you something sweet."

"Oh, it's sweet alright." Rangiku had lightened up after a few drinks, but he cast a wary eye at her when he heard the snide tone. "The prince calls him _pet_ , doesn't he, Tosh? And you call him _master_."

The others fell quiet, a held breath, the derision in her words enough to make them fear his reaction. The sneer on her face brought a flash of anger, but then he caught something else in the way her eyes refused to meet his, skittering over him and then looking down at the tray of paints and brushes in her hands. The anger faded as his mind finally started putting the pieces together.

It seemed a distant memory, how he had forced the word _master_ off his tongue, feeling the sting of it lacerate his pride. Now it simply fell from his lips without a care. He didn't know when it had become so easy to say, easier than 'the prince' which he'd been using as they talked. Much easier than saying Ichigo; he'd tried it once and his tongue tripped over the name with a strange flush of guilt and arousal as he clearly recalled the only time he'd ever called that name. Best to avoid that entirely.

"Yes, that's right. He is my master. And I believe I'm lucky he settled on pet as my role when it could have been slave. Does that bother you, Rangiku?"

Steely eyes flashed up at his, mouth opening for a cutting retort and then losing steam as soon as he stared at her. She took one step back.

"Now, pet is quite a legitimate endearment. I certainly like it, coming from the right lover, someone strong enough to make me feel all warm and cuddly. I can't even count how many little names they've given me over the years. Does he call you anything else? Cookie, maybe? C'mon, give, we all told you ours."

High-pitched giggles resumed around him and he let himself take the distraction. Ran had fallen silent, anyway, distant look turned down again. This was the wrong time and place for this confrontation; he wouldn't force her to admit it in front of an audience.

"First it was darling," he ignored the ' _Awww_ 's with only a slight blush, "but now it's mostly baby." He didn't mention the Shiro-baby that thankfully only came out when he was too far gone in bliss to care. "And little dragon."

"Little dragon? Oh, now that's a proper one. Oh . . . oh, that would do nicely!"

oooooooOOOOOooooooo

"This will help, highness. It's a special blend to aid in energy recovery."

The girl's gaze was unfocused as her soft hands wrapped around the steaming cup. The herbal tea was nothing special, but Retsu had long ago learned that suggestion went a long way in healing. Her own exhaustion was hidden, hands dipping down to her lap to hide the faint tremors as she sat opposite the young princess. Healing first the foreign stray that had been dropped in her lap, then the prince's toy that had turned out to be so much more, and now some servant girl who could have healed naturally without her help had it not been for the distraught and insistent princess . . . she was barely hanging on.

And on top of that the drama with the prince and Hanataro, putting herself in debt to the last man she wanted to owe a favor to get the king to intervene and save her apprentice, then healing the poor boy's wounds . . . her anger steadied her hands. The prince had ordered her boy tortured. Hanataro. The boy would have told the prince anything the man had asked, just as he had told her. But Ichigo hadn't asked. He'd sent assassins to tear open her boy's skin, to bruise and cut him while he was chained in the dark.

"Thank you. And thank you for helping her, and Toshiro, I don't . . ."

"You don't need to thank me, highness. I am a healer. I do what I can."

That was not true, and the darting glance said that the girl was not quite fooled. Well, she had threatened the girl to keep her secret, one she had exposed twice now. She supposed trust was not warranted quite yet. And now the princess could see this one of two ways. Either Retsu was indebted to Orihime for silence and protection since the girl had two incidences of miraculous recovery to point out to her prince, or the young lady would feel indebted to the healer for saving the servant and the royal mistress.

"How did you learn this? Is it something anyone can do?"

Or, perhaps there was a third option. Retsu smiled gently, seeing the tension ease a little. She had wanted a student. Hanataro had learned a little, enough to be of help. This strange girl with her almost sickening innocence and unexpected core of strength had yielded almost effortlessly, letting Retsu use her youthful energy to heal without panicking.

She studied the large eyes, tired but clear, questioning and not flinching from her own. The prince was going to be a problem. Imprisoning her apprentice, attempting to imprison her within the infirmary, clearly intending to interrogate her and her staff . . . the boy had always been clever, and now he was very powerful. He wouldn't let rest the mystery of how his foreign pet survived what should have been a fatal poisoning, healed and whole.

An ally close to Ichigo sat here within reach. Surely, they were not very close yet, having only met days ago. And yet, the young prince was Aizen's true heir in all ways but one. A killer, an opportunist, a schemer, a deceiver, but the whelp had a heart. She had seen his heart in the people around him, from the fierce loyalty given freely by competitive warriors, to the gratitude of the servants he had taken in, the small, the weak, the worthless. She had seen it in the tender way the prince had looked at his new wife as she whispered over the dying foreign boy ' _Will he live?_ ' She had seen it when the desert lion had nearly killed her apprentice, her boy, snarling and snapping as he wrapped the slave tight in his arms.

Even if she was wrong about Prince Ichigo caring for his wife and lover, it did not harm her to have one or both think well of her. Besides, she now had the means to keep the ruthless prince far too busy managing his own household to spend his time destroying hers. If things went well, she may even make an ally out of the boy. They had never been on bad terms before. After all, she had been patching up the prince since he was merely the favored bastard and had always treated him with respect. As much as she wanted to punish the prince for his handling of Hanataro, Retsu was a practical woman, a survivor.

"Long ago, I traveled to many other lands. Have you heard of Reiokyu, highness?" The shaking of the red hair was not a surprise. Born in a common village, raised by a desert tribe, the girl would have no learning to speak of. "It is a land of myth to all but scholars. Far to the north and east, protected by mountains so high that most consider them the edge of the world, it is a kingdom of dreams. Creatures from our bedtime stories are real there, and what we call magic is a craft that is not uncommon. The mages there live long lives, and look like fantastical creatures themselves, pale and beautiful, with hair of moonlight, silver, white, and gold, with gemstone eyes."

The shine of fascination altered. The princess was more intelligent than her upbringing, and she knew the girl had made the connection. Retsu had suspected immediately, the first time she saw the pretty boy chained and drugged. No good would come of it.

"Travelers are usually killed outright, the people of Reiokyu care even less for foreigners than do the people of Hueco Mundo. I was lucky. I stumbled upon a healer who recognized my potential. Healing not with herbs and elixirs but with the body's own energy is a rare talent. Very few can learn it; they must be born with the gift."

She saw the deep breath held, the hope. Yes, this could work.

"Is it something you would like to learn, your highness?"

"Yes," a quiet sigh, already filled with gratitude. "Yes, I would like that very much."

Smiling again, she made her decision. It would either win her a place in the future king's favor, or it would cause enough trouble for the prince to give her a chance to escape. She didn't fool herself that the current king would intervene for her indefinitely, especially if the prince had any believable proof that she had skills that were not simply those of a gifted healer. Hueco Mundo had not seen anything like magic, and most of the legends and religions did not look kindly on the idea.

"Then, I will try to teach you. We will start by examining another patient I recently healed, a foreign girl who came to me covered in burns from being lost in the desert."

oooooooOOOOOooooooo

Festivals and balls, masquerades and pageants had always been part of his life. Toshiro's father hadn't attended many and hosted none apart from the obligatory annual celebration of King's Day, but he remembered being dolled up and cooed over. His uncle was more egalitarian, throwing open the doors of the manor for nobility and commoner, dressing colorfully but without excess. And then there were the many times he was dragged to the palace, stiff lace and heels that he discarded at first opportunity to flee with Karin, joining the crowds on the streets and in pubs instead.

In Seireitei, he found the excess distasteful, though not repulsive. Yes, the nobles wasted a fortune on silly clothing that would be used only once, wasted food and drink. But there was little want in Seireitei. Poor, yes, but there were not masses of citizens starving and killing. It was not the same in Las Noches, and he had eyed the glamorous reflection in the mirror with wonder, appreciation, and guilt. He hid that part of his reaction, only insisting on the less ostentatious collar rather than the elaborate web of silver. Yumichika decided the collar of silver scales was appropriate anyway and beamed proudly at him in the mirror.

Attention shifted to the other two, costumes already decided and brought along to his room which had become unrecognizable in the flurry of activity. He filled his glass with clear water, tempted to drown his returning anxieties in the sweet blue alcohol but knowing he would need his wits at some point tonight. And he kept himself busy, holding various garments or tiny jars, fetching scissors or torture devices to curl or pull hairs, and turning away for a few moments to instruct a horrified Kiyone to bring something edible and light for them all.

Over the course of another hour, Yumichika turned Rangiku into a cat. She laughed, the earlier tension giving way to excitement, chattering about how she had no choice after a decade of parties at the Rose, she'd exhausted the whole menagerie. It was a fanciful cat, blending with the strawberry blonde of her hair, fitting tight with swirls of fire-colored fur to invite petting along edges of exposed, gold-dusted skin.

Then it was time to fuss over the star of the night, who, of course, would be the very height of ostentatious beauty, the peacock. It suited him well, layers of color, a cloak of real feathers, his naturally lovely face accented with two long feathers Toshiro thought were bizarre. It all came together, somehow, and even his costume with the streaks of blue and gold through his hair and glitter around his eyes didn't stand a chance of stealing the spotlight.

Throughout the madness, his eyes drifted back to the mirror and the stranger staring back at him. Dragons were massive creatures, white and silver, hints of pearl, vast wings translucent against the sky. His owner had told him he was wrong, and he had found information on dragons in every text he'd studied on desert history, politics, and economy. The creatures were very different here, the size of wolves, useless though pretty vestigial wings, running in packs instead of solitary, breathing fire instead of ice. Despite a similar structural appearance on a drastically smaller scale, Toshiro wasn't convinced they were at all related to the giants that ruled the high mountains north of Seireitei.

Underneath it all, Toshiro wore a close-fitting layer of silk-lined linen, comfortable though a bit warm. Medallions of fabric heavy with green and gold embroidery covered him, sewn into the silk in lines and swirls that accented his slender form and gave him hints of curves where there were none. In and around were sewn oval strips of thin silk in deepest blue with edges knit in bronze thread, cut from a skirt-like garment that had appeared like magic from one of the myriad boxes strewn about his wrecked bedroom.

All this had been thrown together with a speed and dexterity that was frankly astounding, the two girls moving their hands even faster than their mouths, while Yumichika's long fingers danced over the fabric and transformed it into something Toshiro would never have imagined. The end product did indeed remind him of the detailed sketches of desert dragons, lithe and metallic. When he moved, the flashes of green and gold were obscured by drifting blue silk, shifting sinuously even when he did not try to move gracefully. When he did try, twisting and stepping delicately on the toes of his blue silk slippers as if to begin a dance, the effect was mesmerizing. He'd tried to protest the wings, amazingly conjured out of random sheets of blue gauze and wire. They made him feel a bit childish, but even temperamental Rangiku had approved.

"About finished admiring yourself, mistress?"

He turned in response to the renewed bitterness, but Rangiku had already looked back at Yumichika, fastening a necklace of antique gold and huge amethysts. It didn't quite match the brilliance of the rest of the outfit, just as his own silver and emerald collar stood out in against the blue and gold, but it did wonders for the man's already bewitching lilac eyes. Eyes which were rolling in exasperation, then fixing on Toshiro with a silent plea not to take the bait.

"Sorry, Rangiku, I couldn't help myself. Yumichika, you're a miracle worker."

"Well, obviously. I'll expect your generous patronage, my lord, if you can be tempted to descend from the palace," the man glittered like a living jewel as he swept around Ran and put an arm over Toshiro's shoulder, turning him so they stood side-by-side in front of the mirror. It was so startling and absurd that he couldn't hold back laughter. And he grinned in genuine anticipation when Yumi leaned in and whispered, "Let's go give that prince of yours a heart attack, shall we?"

oooooooOOOOOooooooo

There are many things one may expect in a courtyard full of mustering troops. A lot of horseshit, for one, the smell overwhelming in the hot sun, mixing with sweat and leather. Noise, for another, horses and men, the powerful voices of commanders ringing out to bring order to chaos, the cheering and laughter of excitable children watching mothers and fathers and magnificent strangers geared up for war.

And slaves. Under the watchful eyes of generals, hand-picked fighters, lurking assassins, every detail was noticed. Except the slaves.

Hueco Mundo's great capital sported as many classes of slave as it did of citizens. Some were worth looking at, some couldn't be avoided, positions of influence and power were not out of reach just because a man or woman wore a collar. But, just as the majority of citizens toiled day in, day out for nothing but the privilege of existing through another year, so were the majority of slaves little more than rough tools to be ground down until they broke. And it might be one of the worst fates a man could come to, slave to the military, given less respect and care than the lowest slave-soldier.

It was a great advantage. The man with tangled black curls greased with months of sweat and dirt, whip-scarred back bared and bowed under the weight of a long bundle of spears, thin legs shaking as they struggled uphill with a line of other wretches, he was as close to invisible as a living creature could be under all the watchful eyes. It was a weakness of the great military machine, the eyes searching for danger inured to the sight of the wretched, avoiding looking too closely at such distasteful wastes of humanity.

Upon straining shoulders rested a heavy leather collar with a heavier metal lock, obviously sized to the healthy man who no longer existed, sagging loosely around the thin throat. Why would a soldier think to notice this slave? The man somehow reached his destination, his cumbersome load lifted by stronger hands onto the wide cart. Even the soldier with the long whip thought nothing of the slave collapsing, rolling half under the end of the cart to get out of the way of the next laborer in line, for as long as the task was complete, he wouldn't trouble himself to lift the whip for a few minutes, at least. Even the sharp-eyed assassins who noted the sudden movement turned away, disinterested in the pathetic old thing clawing at his collar and gasping.

Shinji managed to place two of the small, black packets on the rear axle of the cart easily. The approach of the slave-master with whip uncoiled gave him the excuse to scramble forward, unsticking another two from inside the collar and slapping them on the front axle before darting out and taking the lash against his lower back. The yelp and the grimace of pain was an excellent way to stop himself from grinning. The desert forces traveled light, with only the one cart to carry heavy weapons and food, outfitted with wide wheels for traveling across sand.

The tired and bleeding slave managed to find enough energy to flee back down the hill, eager to carry another box or bag or saddle up to the gathering of soldiers. He still had enough of the little packets of acid to sabotage eight horses, either pack animals or army mounts as the opportunities presented themselves.

His gaze found Kensei as he rushed past the cart, a very different figure of a slave, strong and tall, proud head of shining blonde hair only slightly bent, covered with the tattoos of a Wandenreich warrior. Captive taken in battle, then, branded and barely broken, watched warily by another whip-wielding guard. With the other strong slaves, he was loading the wagon with weapons and supplies, his clever hands vanishing between the various packages, targeting the food for horse and rider. This quick trip to raid villagers whose only sin was not understanding where the rich drew borders would not be so quick. A series of broken parts, spoiled provisions, lamed warhorses would haunt and hinder, keeping the prince and his closest warriors out of the capital for as long as possible.

Said prince had ridden within striking distance not five minutes prior, and Shinji's skin had itched. The young man was impressive, he had to admit, and for just an instant his eyes had locked with the bright golden brown, a nearly fatal error. But even the prince must have a blind spot where slaves were concerned, and the grim face had turned away, the tall blood-bay carrying the desert lion out of sight in seconds. A shame really, that it wouldn't come to a fight with the prince. Yoruichi and Kisuke, probably. The king, perhaps, though he doubted it. Ah well, as good as the fight would be, it was a complication and bloodshed best avoided.

A change in the tone of the noisy crowd caught his attention as he waited his turn in line, thankful to note that the big boxes were all gone. Just carrying tack, now, an easy job even for a slave in his last days of use. By the time he'd trekked back up to the courtyard, the place was a cacophony of whistles, hoots, cheers. All the watchers, even those tasked with managing the slaves, were focused in one direction, and Shinji took the risk, counting on the way no one wanted to see a slave, setting down the saddle and climbing up on the very wagon he'd helped fill.

"Is that . . .?"

Barely a whisper in the secret language of the Visored, and he nodded, gaze narrowing in on the strange sight. Around the edges of the courtyard were gathered a fair number of the nobility, entire families from the upper district come to see the warriors off with fanfare. Amid such a glittering crowd, it was exceedingly difficult to stand out. The five figures standing on the wide stairway that descended into the courtyard managed it easily.

Slightly behind, and a lot less dazzling, were two girls in fine but not exceptional garments, pretty enough and showing enough fine, young skin to earn a few admiring catcalls. It was difficult to notice them when there was a strange and delectable cat with the face of a goddess and the breasts of a demoness smirking at the crowd, striking poses that made Shinji's jaw drop. And, though he was only occasionally inclined to appreciate men but saved his passion for women, the outrageously flamboyant youth catching and dazzling every ray of the intense sun with a rainbow of rich colors just might be able to radically change his opinion.

Right there, between and a step ahead of them, in the lead where rank demanded, was the royal mistress. Their target. Lord of the South, future king-consort of Seireitei.

So close. He could feel the tension radiating from Kensei. _So close._ The charges set around the palace and main thoroughfares were time sensitive, as were slow-dissolving packets of corrosive placed throughout the company of warriors; he couldn't set them off at will. The gate guards would not be sick or dead until nightfall. Everything was set for an escape tonight, not now in broad daylight.

But he could wreck considerable havoc on his own, throw the already rowdy crowd into panic while Kensei snatched the boy and fled. The two real challenges were not visible, which did not necessarily mean that the assassin duo was not nearby. Too many unknowns. Here, four Visored in a vast city full of enemies, they would only have one chance to get this right.

"No. We wait."

The boy was as provocatively dressed as the other two, outfit a bit more modest, body mostly covered though in such a way as to reveal just how sensuous the small form could be. Above bared shoulders dusted in gold and bruises was an emerald collar, and for the first time Shinji felt not just the challenge of their task but genuine anger. Loyalty to the crown was deeply ingrained in the Visored, though he could usually shove emotion aside. But there stood one of the highest of Seireitei's lords, wearing the collar proclaiming him property of desert barbarians . . . great wars had been started for less offense.

And the vibrant eyes perfectly matching the blue-green-gold finery were staring at him. No. Between himself and the target, the bright red of a fine warhorse, the brighter orange of ridiculous hair, moving forward as the fascinated clump of soldiers parted. He looked again, calming himself, noted the boy's lips part, the bright eyes fixed unblinking, the graceful step forward, and another, faster. The clatter of hooves as the warhorse climbed the stairs, the reaching of a pale hand painted with swirling patterns of gold, and up the boy was lifted as if he weighed nothing at all.

"Well, shit."

That about summed it up, with all Kensei's usual wit. Their target was clever, so clever that the prince of Seireitei, a man famed for devious intelligence, had made a point of telling them so. Maybe the kid was expertly playing a role, surviving and even thriving against all odds. Or maybe the way those white and gold hands clutched tight at fistfuls of orange, and the way the crowd screamed in response to the passionate kiss told a very different story.

"Changes nothing."

Kensei gave one sharp nod as Shinji dropped back down to the ground. Their duty wasn't to ask the boy what he wanted. Their duty certainly wasn't to believe a traumatized captive, stolen, enslaved, likely raped and beaten, gods knew what else – even if the kid wanted to stay it would be a lie, a delusion. Shinji had seen it before. Their duty was to save the nephew of Lord Ukitake, to return a valuable lord with a military mind and a royal bloodline to serve their king and country. And that's exactly what they would do.

oooooooOOOOOooooooo

Was it the alcohol, the glass bottle passed round, cup refilled instantly after each sip so that he couldn't say how many drinks he'd had before sense told him to drink clean water instead? Or had this entire . . . life driven him completely mad? It was clear when he had seen the man who owned him, shining in the bright sun, towering over the crowd of fierce warriors with calm and absolute command written on every line, it was quite clear that he had to get away, escape, run as far as his last breath could take him.

How, then, was there no hesitation, no forcing his hand up to play along? How did he find himself perched on the smooth pommel of the saddle, twisting to press himself closer as his head was tilted back by the intensity of the lips, the clever tongue? The world blurred, pleasantly retreating and taking his fears with it. Even the embarrassment (he refused to call it humiliation, for the crowd was nothing to him, not one of them worth his notice) at the lewd propositions that had dogged his steps from the palace was forgotten, the raucous cheers lost in the sound of his racing heartbeat and the wet, fleshy music of their joining and parting.

By the time the kiss ended and he could harness a thought, he looked to find that the horse had wheeled and taken them down the stairs, into the throng of soldiers and their mounts. All eyes were on them, and he gave in to the urge to tuck his face against the solid muscles where he could breathe deep the familiar scent of clove and sweat, the aroma so strongly linked to every memory of ecstasy that he found himself craving it, inhaling hungrily.

Sense began to return just before the horse extended stride into a long, ground-devouring walk. Toshiro had to lean to see around the black silk, pushing against the arm wrapped around him to keep him from falling, as if he didn't know perfectly well how to stay on a horse. His, well, he supposed _friends_ was too strong a word, his companions were still visible though distant, the two girls bouncing and waving in his direction. Ran's eyes were on Yumichika, who was leaning on one hand against the flank of a dun warhorse as if he were bored, talking over his shoulder to the soldier astride. The bald man from the hallway of the whorehouse, he realized, staring fixedly while a smooth whisper turned his heated blood to ice.

"Now then, pet, why don't you tell me all about Momo?"


End file.
